Fine Flowers
by WitchGirl
Summary: After responding to an infanticide, Catherine’s absurd behavior begins as embarrassingly humorous, but slowly turns out to be much more deadly than they thought. A ghost story. SaraCath friendship. Sandle, YoBling.
1. The Cruel Mother

Fine Flowers

**Summary:** While investigating an infanticide, Sara and Catherine unearth an old mystery. The more they uncover, the stranger Catherine acts, until Sara wonders if everything is as it seems… Sara/Cath friendship. Sandle, YoBling.

**_Author's Note:_** This story turned out more humorous than expected. So much so that the second genre kept jumping from mystery to humor to romance. You'll find a little bit of everything here. The beginning ought to make you laugh. It was written to inspire _awkward_ laughter, which even as I wrote I had to let out. This story is going to get a little darker, though I will try to keep it within the rating this time. It's inspired by a British folk song called, "Fine Flowers In The Valley" (a version of the song "The Cruel Mother"). Lyrics to which are included below. The melody is so haunting, I just had to write a ghost story. Maybe I was possessed. Who knows. Enough of me, read on. (Also, I'll try and keep my author's notes short this time).

* * *

_She sat down below a thorn  
Fine flowers in the valley  
And there she kissed her babe newborn  
And the green leaves they grow rarely _

_Smile na sae sweet, my bonnie babe  
And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead_

_She's taken out her little penknife  
And twinned the sweet babe o' its life_

_She howket a grave by the light o' the moon  
And there she's buried her sweet babe in_

_As she was going to the church  
She saw a sweet babe in the porch_

_O sweet babe, if thou wert mine  
I would cleed thee in the silk so fine_

_O mother dear, when I was thine,  
You didna prove to me sae kind_

_O curse mother, heaven's high  
And that's where thou will neer win nigh_

_O cursed mother, hell is deep  
Fine flowers in the valley  
And there thou'll enter step by step  
And the green leaves they grow rarely_

* * *

Sara leaned over the edge of the crib and took a picture while Catherine walked around the room. 

"This doesn't look like the room an angry mother would decorate," she said.

Sara shrugged. "Post-partum depression can do crazy things to you."

"I didn't have it so bad," Catherine said, turning to face Sara. Sara felt the burn in her gaze and looked over at her.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, slightly confused at Catherine's radiating irritation. "I didn't mean anything against you."

"Hm," Catherine intoned, before turning away and picking up a book. "She had Goodnight Moon. Why would you buy all this and then kill your own child?"

"I'm not sure," Sara said. "But it's pretty open and shut, Catherine. The father walked in on her as it happened. Brass is trying to talk to them right now."

Catherine looked at her watch and sighed. "Well, good," she said. "Let's wind this up, Grissom wants us out in Boulder City."

Sara sighed and nodded. "Because we're not far from there. OK." She picked up a white fiber in the baby's mouth. "These are always so sad," she said, half to herself.

"To kill your own child…" Catherine muttered as she looked at a photograph.

"I think we found a murder weapon," Sara said, holding up a pillow in the crib. Catherine turned to look at Sara impassively and shrugged. "Fantastic," she said. "We got everything here?"

"I think so," Sara said. She stopped herself from sarcastically adding, 'Thanks for the help.'

"Great," Catherine said quickly. "Let's go then."

Catherine exited the room coolly and quickly, leaving Sara to gaze after her curiously. Catherine had been in a good enough mood on the way over, and even when they'd met the bawling mother and the shocked father. Her mood had only changed the moment they'd stepped into the child's room. She had grown frigid, icy even, and every word that had come out of Sara's mouth seemed to offend her. The room dropped several degrees, and Sara rubbed her arms before leaving the room and going down the stairs.

Brass was trying to console a hysterical mother on the couch when he saw Sara and Catherine coming down the stairs. He waved at them headed over.

"What'd you guys find?" he asked.

"Not much _to_ find," Sara replied. "Baby was smothered, we found some fibers on her mouth which in all likelihood match the pillow we found by her head. It seems pretty straight forward, coupled with the father's testimony that he walked in on the mother and called the police."

Brass nodded, then looked over his shoulder at the father, who stood cold and pale in the corner of the room as he stared at his wife. "Strange case," he said. "The mother confessed, but she's crying so much I can't figure out what mindset she was in when it occurred. I'm going to get a psych eval—"

"How could you _do _that!" the father exclaimed, stepping forward. "How could you kill our _baby_?"

She was blubbering as she offered her hands to him as if they were all she had to give. It wasn't good enough for him.

"You're a crazy bitch, you know that?" he said quietly, approaching her. A few officers stepped in. One of them put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped.

"I didn't know what to do!" the woman sobbed. "Can we burry her in the garden, Allan? Please?"

"The _garden_?!" her husband screamed, outraged. He broke away from the officer's touch. "I'll show _you_ what we'll burry in the _garden_!"

She screamed and the officers tried to restrain him, but the husband broke free and struck his wife across the face. Sara and Brass stepped forward while Catherine remained in the shadows. Sara kneeled in front of the mother as her tears mingled with the blood on her face. Brass took the man's hands and put them behind his back, ready to cuff him.

"_No_!" the husband screamed, throwing Brass off of him and he crashed into the coffee table. Sara looked up in time to see a heavy hand come down hard across her shoulders and she was slammed against the wall. The woman's bloodcurdling scream ripped through the house.

Sara's vision was fuzzy from the blow as the throbbing pain played on her brain like a bongo drum, but she'd heard that scream clear as a bell. Her body sore, she got to her feet, and her vision cleared enough to see the husband, Allan Walter, standing over the corpse of his wife and staring at his hands in bafflement. Everything was frozen. Brass was on his feet too, watching Allan Walter closely. Sara's eyes darted to the stairwell, in which Catherine remained in the shadows, watching the scene with cold blue eyes. Sara frowned as time began to start again and the police rushed forward to detain their new murderer.

"Catherine!" she called out to her colleague, her head banging. "Are you OK?" She wondered if Catherine realized the irony of the question, considering the fact that Sara had just been thrown clear across the room.

Catherine nodded and stepped onto the landing and then out into the living room as the police dragged Allan Walter out of the house. Her eyes were on the body. "Well," she said. "It looks like Boulder City will have to wait."

Brass rubbed his forearm, which had been cut by a piece of glass from the coffee table. He looked up at Sara. "How are you doing, Sara, you alright?"

Sara nodded and then stopped as she felt it sloshed her brain around in her skull. She smiled. "I'll be OK. That looks like a nasty cut, you should get that checked out."

"Yeah," said Brass. He turned to Catherine. "I don't think we need your expertise here," he said, noting how intently she stared at the body. "We all saw what happened. I think mine and Sara's injuries can attest to that if you need more evidence. Why don't you and Sara head back to Grissom. He'll be worried when he hears what happened down here."

"Let's go into the garden," Catherine said suddenly, earning her two curious looks from Sara and Brass. She shrugged. "What? It was obviously important to her." They both looked skeptical and Catherine tilted her head. "Come on, Sara, humor me."

Sara glanced at Brass, then looked back at Catherine and sighed. "OK, fine, let's look at the garden." Catherine didn't seem to be in a mood to be argued with.

"OK," Brass said, "But I'm calling Grissom to let him know you both are OK."

Sara nodded at him before she followed Catherine out onto the backyard patio. It was a lovely garden, with a forest on the edge of it. Sara stood in awe of it. The garden was well tended, with flowers in bloom all over. But Catherine seemed to ignore it all as she strode out toward the forest. Sara looked after her, intrigued.

"Where are you going?" she called.

Catherine didn't answer. She kneeled on the grass at the edge of the forest. "Sara!" she called out. "Come see this."

Sara jogged on over to Catherine and kneeled down next to her. "What?"

Catherine pointed at a patch of clover that grew in abundance under some forest leaf litter. Catherine looked at Sara. "What do you think caused this?"

"Fertile soil?" Sara said. "I don't know, clovers grow everywhere, Catherine, they're like a weed." But Catherine had begun to dig with her hands. "Catherine! What are you doing?"

"There's something under here, Sara," Catherine said. "It's… I can feel it."

Sara saw a gray bone peaking out from the soil and gasped. Soon, her hands joined Catherine's in digging at the soil. When they were finished, they stood back and saw a near complete skeleton of an infant. Catherine pulled out her cell phone and called it in.

"Grissom? Yeah, I'm—Yes, yes, we're both _fine_, relax. Listen, Sara and I just found another DB. Child… Yeah you do that, send Greg and Nick, they can have a ball. Call you when we know something. Bye." She looked at Sara. "Ready to process another scene?"

"What about Boulder City?" Sara asked.

"Nick and Greg are on it," Catherine replied.

"Then lets get to it!"

* * *

"Super Dave!" Nick exclaimed happily upon seeing him. 

David Phillips, on the other hand, did not look so amused as he stared at the two approaching CSIs with arms crossed. "Where have you guys been? I thought Catherine and Sara were on this case! I've been waiting here for an hour and a _half_."

Greg shrugged and tossed him an envelope. "Hope that'll make up for it. It's 3:00, you better not miss it."

David opened the envelope and looked at the invitation skeptically. "A party? You think a _party_ will make me feel better."

"An _island_ party," Greg corrected. "I expect Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts, man."

"Aren't those two completely different islands?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, but you see—"

"Dead body!" David interrupted, pointing at the corpse. "Dead body on the ground and you're on the job. TOD _was_ only six hours ago, but that was when I first arrived, now it's more like eight. Warrick dropped me off here before getting assigned to another crime scene, said Catherine and Sara would be right over. Guess they sent you guys instead, and now I have no car. Have fun, I'm getting coffee."

As he strode off, Nick and Greg looked after him. Greg turned to Nick. "What's gotten into him? It's not _our_ fault Catherine found another body."

"Yeah, but he's been out here and it's cold," Nick said. "Can't say I blame him. Anyway, what have we got?"

Greg squatted down to look at the body. "Gun shot wound to the head," he said, then grinned up at Nick. "Wallet missing… And what do you know, he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt."

"Maybe Dave can take some fashion tips," Nick quipped.

They processed the scene quickly and were done within the hour. They met David back by Nick's car. He was drinking out of a Starbucks cup and he seemed to have calmed down and forgiven them a little. "That was fast," he noted.

"You waited," Nick said. "I'm flattered."

He smiled at them. "Had nowhere else to go," he said honestly. "Slow night for crime I guess."

"Yeah, really," said Greg, tossing his kit in the car. "Need a ride?"

"You know I do," David replied.

Nick and Greg argued over the music to listen to all the way back to the lab and David began to regret accepting their ride. He had been looking forward to driving back with Sara and Catherine. It would probably have been a much quieter drive back. He briefly wondered what the two of them had found down there.

By the time they got back to the lab, Catherine and Sara were there too, both women having some coffee in the break room. Greg veered over towards them and handed them each an invitation. Catherine looked at it skeptically.

"Is this an elaborate ploy to see us in bikinis?" she asked him.

Greg looked offended. "Please," he said. "I'm not that tactless. If anything, it's a plan to get you leied." Sara choked on her coffee and Greg grinned at her. "Those flower necklaces. Leis?" he clarified.

Sara closed her eyes and nodded. "Very nice, Greg," she said.

"You're both coming?" he said, looking at each of them.

Sara smiled at him. "Sure, we'll be there," she said.

"So what did you guys find over in Henderson?" he asked them.

"Well," Sara answered. "An infanticide turned into a triple."

"You're joking," Greg said, stunned. "Let me guess—the baby came back for revenge?"

Catherine glared at him. "Not funny, Greg."

Greg bowed his head at the cool tones in Catherine's voice. "Sorry, I was just…"

"The father of the smothered infant," Sara said, trying to dispel the negative air, "jumped out and broke the mother's neck. The mother killed the baby, that case is closed. But then Catherine decided to check the backyard and found another baby's body. We assumed it was a previous child that the mother had killed earlier. Hence, the triple."

Greg looked at Sara for a moment, then frowned before reaching over to her face as he pushed her hair back behind her ear. He looked at his red fingers, and Sara suddenly realized why. "You're bleeding," he said, all jest gone from his voice and replaced with concern. "What—"

"Angry dad tossed me against the wall," Sara said, her fingers flying to the side of her head. "I guess I missed that injury. Excuse me." She made her way out, her hand still held to the side of her head, and Greg and Catherine were left alone in the room. Greg shifted uncomfortably as Catherine stared at him.

"Sorry about the dead baby joke," then cringed as he realized the apology could be misinterpreted as a tasteless pun. "I mean—sorry for saying the baby—um, can I just say sorry for breathing? Would that make you stop looking at me like that?"

Catherine relaxed and smiled at Greg. "It's OK, Greg," she said. "Just don't talk about my baby that way again."

Greg nodded as she pushed past him and left and it was only upon her exit that her words finally dawned on him. "Hey Catherine, what—" He spun around to catch her, but she was gone. He shrugged, deciding Catherine had simply misspoken, and left it at that.

"Cath— Oh, it's you."

Greg turned at the voice and saw Hodges glaring at him from the doorway. "Hi. They just left. What do you need? Find something on the dead baby?"

"I'm afraid I can only tell Catherine that," said Hodges smugly. "What are you doing slacking off in here anyway?"

Greg sat down in his chair and kicked his feet up. "Slow night," he said. "I've got nothing else to do."

"I thought you and Nick Stokes were working on that Hawaiian Shirt case," Hodges said.

"You heard about that, huh?"

"I was around when Nick was talking to Bobby about the gun," Hodges replied. He turned to leave, before adding, "Oh and by the way, don't think that I don't know that you're having a party on Saturday. Or that I'm not invited."

Greg looked at the invitations in his hand and shoved them behind his back. "It's in the mail, bro!" he called after Hodges.

"Right," Hodges said, rolling his eyes as he left.

Hodges walked down the hall until he saw the back of Catherine's head and ran to catch up with her, calling her name. She stopped and turned to him.

"The soil you brought back," he told her. "Unusually high traces of pollen. Someone threw flowers on this grave."

"No kidding?" Catherine said. "That's interesting."

"Whoever buried the kid probably loved it," he said.

Catherine took the file from him and stared at it blankly. "Yes," she said. "Very much." 


	2. The Woman In Black

**_Author's Note:_** As usual, for those who don't know, I update daily, or every other day. I only post stories which are pre-written or I'm way ahead in writing them. You oughtta enjoy the next chapter. It's a lot of fun.

* * *

"You rang, Doctor?" Sara said, entering the morgue. Dr. Robbins looked up at her and smiled. 

"Your bones," he said. "They're old."

"I thought they were a child's," Sara said.

"Oh, they are," Dr. Robbins replied. "But they're old."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "How old?"

"About one hundred and fifty years old," Robbins replied. "It's why you only found part of it. The smaller bones like the fingers and feet decomposed, leaving us with half a ribcage, a pelvis, and a skull. You're lucky most of the skull is intact. Someone took very good care of these remains, but the soil it was in decomposed it rapidly. I've seen million-year-old fossils in better shape." He closed a file and handed it to her. "This is out of our jurisdiction. Even if it was a crime, it was committed before forensic laws even existed. It's not one we're supposed to solve."

"So what do we do with the bones?" Sara asked. "Hand them over to anthropologists?"

"She's no Lucy," Dr. Robbins said, looking at the bones. "But she's not young enough for our services to do any good."

"Do you think she was killed?" Sara asked.

"Hard to say," said Dr. Robbins. "Hard to tell if she was even a _she_. Infant bones are not very sexually dimorphic. That comes with puberty. The pelvis expands in a female's case, the forehead extends in males… And with an incomplete skeleton like this… I'm sorry, Sara, I just can't say. She might have been killed, or she could have died from natural causes."

Sara sighed. "Thanks. I guess I'll call anthropology. See if they want anything to do with her."

Sara took the file from Robbins and headed out. She met Catherine in the hall. "Dr. Robbins says our baby is over one hundred and fifty years old."

Catherine frowned at her. "Hodges found traces of pollen in the soil."

"A formal burial," Sara said. "What do you make of it?"

"I don't know," Catherine said. "I need more time."

"Well we don't have it," Sara said. "Due to the age of the body, we can't investigate any further. Our job ends here."

Catherine nodded. "OK then," she said. She looked down at her watch. "Shift is almost over."

"Unfortunately," Sara said. "Looks like I'll just be heading home and crashing on the couch again."

"You're not going to Greg's party?" Catherine asked.

"At three o'clock in the afternoon?" Sara said, laughing. "That's quality sleep time."

"He'll be disappointed," Catherine said.

"Yeah," said Sara. "That he couldn't get me leied."

"In more ways than one," Catherine said. She looked at her watch. "Listen, I'm gonna go home and check on Lindsey, maybe make her breakfast before she goes to school. Cover for me?"

"No problem," Sara said. "Slow night anyway."

"I used to think there was no such thing," Catherine sighed.

"Let Grissom know before you go," Sara called after Catherine as she headed off. Sara watched her with a smile, glad that she was acting normally once again. Whatever had come over her back at the crime scene seemed to be gone now.

Turning around, she ran headlong into Warrick and dropped her files. They both bent down to pick up them up.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Didn't see you."

"It's all good," Warrick said. "Shouldn't have been walking so fast. Hey, are you going to that party Greg's throwing?"

"Probably not," Sara replied. "I don't really do theme parties."

Warrick laughed as he got to his feet. "Aw, he'll be disappointed. I heard he was trying to impress you."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sara said, sounding exhausted. "I'd rather just relax, you know."

"Cut him a break," Warrick said with a smile as he pushed Sara's files back into her hands. "You can relax at the party. Have you seen Catherine?"

"She was on her way out," Sara told him. "I think she was going to give Grissom a head's up."

"Great," Warrick said with a grin as he moved passed her. "Because I wanted to talk to her."

"Oh?" Sara said, sounding curious. She watched Warrick walk off down the hall and didn't give her an answer. Smiling to herself, she headed down the hall.

The lights went off so suddenly, Sara tripped over her own feet and cursed loudly.

"Sara? That you?"

Sara sighed and saw the shadow of Nick standing stock still a few feet away from her. "Yeah, Nick," she said. He moved closer to her and extended a hand in her general direction. She grabbed it and he hoisted her up. "What's with the lights?"

"Dunno…" said Nick. "But if I know Grissom—" He was interrupted by a loud stream of obscenities. Nick laughed. "He was doing something important with the electricity."

"It seems the whole lab went down," Sara said.

All of a sudden there was a bang coming from one of the interview rooms. Electricity was restored almost immediately afterwards and Sara and Nick found themselves jogging towards the source of the noise like half the rest of the lab. Before anyone could go in, however, Brass came stumbling out the door and forced everyone back. There was blood on his shirt.

"I don't need _all_ of you!" he insisted, sounding annoyed. "Just _some_ of you." He spotted Sara and Nick and beckoned them over. "Sara," he said. "This was your case, your suspect, you come here. Where's Catherine?"

"She went home," Sara told him. "Why, what's going on?"

He looked up at Nick. "You can take it then." He ushered both of them inside. "Our perp shot himself in the blackout."

"With whose gun?" Sara asked, staring at the dead body through the one-way window.

"Mine," Brass said. "I know what you need to do; I was in here with him. Sofia was here too, but she went to get some coffee and…" He held his hands out to them, palms up. "Go ahead. Test for GSR. I didn't shoot him, but I know you guys can't take my word for it."

Nick smiled at his cooperation. "Thanks, man," he said, hoisting his kit up on the table.

But Sara's eyes were glued on the dead body and she put her hand up to the glass. Something about his death struck her as intensely eerie. And it hurt her, personally, and she couldn't tell why. "Brass, what did he say before he killed himself?"

Brass let out a tired sigh. "Utter disbelief. He couldn't believe he'd killed his own wife, or that she'd killed their only child. He repeated two names, neither one the name of his wife. Lizbeth and Annabelle. Kept blubbering about going back to County Kerry and starting all over again. Did he strike you as Irish?"

"Sure had the temper of an Irish guy I once dated," Sara said. "Otherwise… his features don't say that at all. He looks almost like he's of mixed Arab decent, tanned skin, long nose… Meanwhile, the wife had a Greek nose and sharp features, not to mention that long black hair."

"Haven't you ever heard of the Black Irish?" Nick said.

"She wasn't Black Irish," Sara said, resolutely.

"Well apparently they were," said Brass. "Unless you know of a County Kerry in the United States."

Sara shrugged. "What else did he say?"

"Well he was freaking out, actually," said Brass. "Getting really agitated, sweat dripping down his face… No surprise that when the power went out he reached for my gun and bang! Down goes Dad."

"How'd he get your gun?" Sara asked.

"Not quite sure, really," said Brass, frowning as he tried to think about it. "I had it safe in my holster, and I don't remember him coming near me or grabbing it. I would have felt it… maybe it was on the table, but I would never leave my gun out like that… All I know is what you guys know. I mean, there are windows in here, but they might as well have been walls. It was pitch black. Couldn't see a thing."

At that moment, Grissom entered the room, followed by Warrick. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Suicide," Brass explained, gesturing at the late Allan Walter. "Blew his brains out."

"I can see that," said Grissom, taking in the gruesome scene. "Why? How?"

"I was just telling Sara and Nick that," said Brass, sounding slightly annoyed by the questions.

"Right," said Grissom. "Of course." He looked at his two CSIs. "You'll give me a report later, I'm guessing."

Sara protested. "Grissom, it's like an hour away from end of shift—"

"You're not leaving until this is done," he said. Both she and Nick groaned. "Besides, Sara, I thought you loved working doubles."

"Sometimes I love sleeping more," Sara mumbled.

Grissom looked around. "Where's Catherine?"

"What?" said Warrick. "I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"Didn't she come to see you?" Sara inquired. Grissom shook his head. "She said she was going to leave a little early, since it was a slow night… I assumed she would run it by you first."

"Well she didn't," said Grissom, sounding irked. "And now I have to call her and ask why. She's involved in this too."

"Let me do it," Warrick offered. "I've been meaning to talk to her about something anyway."

As Warrick left, Greg poked his head in the door. "I heard I was missing all the fun," he said.

Grissom glared at him. "There's just as much fun out there Greg. There are enough people in here. Shoo."

"But—"

"I'd do it if I were you," Sara interrupted. "Unless you want to get stuck pulling a double shift."

A stupid grin formed on Greg's face as he looked at Grissom. "You look swell today, boss, by the way, I'll be on my way now, don't forget— three o'clock!" And with a thumbs-up, Greg was gone again. Within twenty seconds he was back again, the door cracked open just enough to see his face.

"Greg, what did I say?" Grissom said.

"I know," said Greg. "But I've been hanging out and Ecklie's here. I told him you didn't want anymore people in the room so—"

"Let him in, Greg," Grissom said.

Obviously offended, Greg pushed the door open to reveal Ecklie standing right behind him before he stalked off.

"Brass!" Ecklie exclaimed, seeing him covered in blood. "Two disturbances with a suspect in one night, what's wrong with you?"

"This is more than a disturbance," Brass said, gesturing at Alan Walter.

Ecklie noted it. "So was the last one. A woman was killed. Right in front of you."

"I see a lot of death, Conrad," Brass said, icily.

"More like it follows you," Ecklie replied. He sighed, and just seemed to notice that everyone else was there. "Well? What are you guys looking at, do your _job_ for God's sake!" And with that, he was gone.

"Well," said Sara. "That was utterly pointless."

"That was Conrad Ecklie," Grissom replied.

Nick held his camera up to Brass. "Say cheese," he said. "You've just become a crime scene."

Brass gave him a sarcastic smile before the flash went.

Sara, meanwhile, approached the glass again and stared in at the corpse. There was a young woman in a black dress, stroking the man's hair and dabbing at the wound at the back of his head. She also dabbed at the blood dripping out of his mouth, where the gun had most likely been. Her hair, or what Sara could see of it, was red and hidden under an old-fashioned black funeral hat with a veil. Sara walked into the room.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you can't be in here."

The woman looked up at her, gaunt and ashen, but her bright green eyes sparkled out at Sara from behind the veil. When she looked at her, Sara determined she couldn't have been older than sixteen, not a woman at all but a girl, and yet her demeanor seemed so much more mature. "Haven't you ever wondered," the girl asked gleefully, "what things may have come to pass if no one ever knew?"

"Ma'am," Sara said sharply. "I need you to step away from the body."

She looked towards it, the excitement fleeing from her eyes and the color draining from them as well to a steely gray. "There is nothing here anymore. There is nothing inside. Nothing inside us. So we become the outside. It is our hell, you see. Our purpose. You and me."

"Brass?" Sara called, her eyes still on the strange girl. "Did you have someone else in here?"

No one answered her call and Sara glanced at the window, seeing only her own reflection. But she saw none of the girl, and that's what bothered her most. She turned instantly again.

There she was, dabbing at the man's wounds, humming a soft lullaby Sara had never heard before. And yet, there she wasn't.

"Who are you?" Sara demanded, half-nervous, half-frustrated. "You shouldn't be here."

"You're right about one thing," the girl replied, grinning a twisted smirk. "None of us should be here."

"Brass!" Sara called again loudly, but still no one replied. She slowly backed away towards the door and fiddled with the knob before hastily making her way out and slamming it shut, breathing hard. Her sudden entrance made Nick and Brass look at her, surprised. Sara looked around.

"Where's Grissom?" she asked.

"He left," Nick replied. "What's wrong?"

Soon enough, Sara's heart stopped pounding so hard as she realized how ridiculous she was being. "Nothing," she said. "Except that girl. She shouldn't be in there, Brass."

Both Nick and Brass stared at her in curious confusion. "What girl?" Brass asked.

Sara pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "The girl, the girl, the woman in black. In there."

Nick walked over to the window and looked inside. "Sara, there's no one there but the body. Are you feeling OK?"

"What?!" Sara exclaimed, and quickly joined Nick at the window. There he was, completely undisturbed, lying back in his chair. Blood still poured from his mouth and his eyes were glassy and lifeless. But he was the only one there.

Sara shuttered involuntarily and rubbed her arms. "OK, so I'm seeing things," she said. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Nick reassured her, though he sound somewhat worried himself. "You just need some rest, alright?"

Slowly, Sara nodded, her expression blank. "Yeah…" she muttered. "I'm gonna…" She seemed to change her mind as she shook her head. She turned to Nick and smiled. "Let me process Brass," she said. "_You_ do the body."

Nick laughed lightly at her and squeezed her shoulder. "Sure thing," he said.

* * *

The phone rang six times before Warrick got a hold of Catherine's answering machine. He looked at his phone and frowned at it. "Cath, it's Warrick. Where'd you go? Anyways, Grissom wants you back at the lab, he's also kind of pissed that you didn't let him know where you were going. Call me back." 

And she did return the call, after a few minutes. "Warrick," she said, her voice soft and sweet. "Why don't you come over? I made dinner."

"Uh…" said Warrick, very confused. "Why don't you come over _here_?" he said. "Nick made coffee."

"Ugh, I don't want to go over there," Catherine whined. "It stinks of death."

"It's a crime lab," Warrick said with a shrug. "Of course it does. But you didn't seem to mind so much before. Come on, or else Nick is stuck working _your_ case and I don't think he and Greg are finished with the Hawaiian Shirt John Doe."

Catherine sighed. "Fine, I'll come in," she said, sounding more like an annoyed child than Catherine.

Warrick looked at his phone again to make sure he was talking to the right person. "Cath, are you feeling alright? You sound… exhausted?" It was a guess. Really, she sounded drunk. He hoped to God she wasn't.

"I'm fine, Warrick," she said. "Just miss you is all."

"Miss me?" Warrick shook his head to clear it. "Whatever, just get over here. See you soon."

"Bye." And she hung up.

Warrick shook his whole body, trying to get the weird vibes he'd been receiving from Catherine over the phone off of him. He turned on his heal and headed for the locker room, hoping _he_ would be able to avoid the double shifts Grissom was dishing out.

"Warrick!"

No such luck. Warrick stopped in his tracks and turned to see Ecklie. "Yes, sir?"

"Need you on the John Doe," he said. "Catherine's not here, and Nick's helping Sara with Brass's suicide case."

"Sir, Catherine's on her way—"

"She's not here now when we need her, so get on the case," Ecklie said. "Now."

Warrick's shoulders slumped forward. He felt like arguing more, but knew from experience that it would just get him into further trouble. When he turned around, he found himself facing Greg, who was reading off a file and was already in mid-sentence.

"… shot wound to the chest pointblank, ninety degree angle, and gun's with Jacqui. Welcome to the case. Take this, and go ask Jacqui if she's got a hit of any of those prints yet. I'm gonna see who owned the gun."

Sighing, Warrick took the folder. "Why are you telling me what to do?"

Greg blinked innocently up at him. "Hey," he said, "I'm sorry, I was just giving you a direction to go in. Of course, you don't _have _to follow it, but if we're going to be working together we should at least listen to each other's suggestions—"

"OK," Warrick said. "OK, I get it. I'm on my way."

"Relax," Greg said. "I want to get off as bad as you. Shouldn't take too long, I think we'll all be done here by noon."

"Give you time enough to setup, eh?" Warrick said. "Where's your party at again?"

Greg's eyes lit up. "You're coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it, man," Warrick said with a smile.

Greg returned the courtesy. "Thanks," he said, but the smile faded and he shrugged, casually. "Ya know, it could just be you and me kicking back with a couple of beers. You're the first person to RSVP."

"Aw, they'll show up," Warrick said. "They just don't want to let you know."

"You know what it's for, right?" Greg said.

Warrick nodded. "One of the only reasons I'm showing up."

"You mean you wouldn't have otherwise?" Greg looked crestfallen.

"I never said that," Warrick said. "You'd just have to give me a new reason."

Greg closed his eyes and smiled, nodding. "Right," he said. "Hawaiian shirts aren't necessarily everybody's thing. D'you think Nick's coming? He hasn't mentioned it."

"I'll drag him kicking and screaming," Warrick replied. "Besides, when he figures out what you're doing, I'm sure he'll jump on the bandwagon."

"So people would come for _Sara_, but not for _me_," Greg said, in mock offense. "I see how it is around here."

"Get to work, kid," Warrick said. "The sooner we move, the sooner we're out of here." 


	3. Occam's Razor

_**Author's Note:**_ It occured to me that I never thank my reviewers. I bow my head in shame and thank ye now, particularly the loyal few of you who've stuck with me through my two other stories too. Y'all are awesome, and you and I both know who are ;o). It flatters me. And... I lied last author's note. While this chapter is fun, it's not half as fun as next chapter. I was going to include it all as one giant chapter, but it was too huge for my tastes (longer than one and two combined) so I decided instead to split them up into two seperate chapters. Enjoy-eth yourself-eth. And excuse-eth the bastardization-eth of Olde English...eth. Really, I don't know what's wrong with me.

* * *

Nick looked at the body for a long time. He was pretty sure Brass was telling the truth, but there were pieces of the puzzle that didn't fit. Woman kills baby for no apparent reason, husband kills woman in a wave of fury, husband shoots himself in guilt. He supposed it was straightforward enough, but somehow it felt very strange. He set the camera on the table and glanced briefly back at the reflecting window. For a moment, he thought he saw a flutter of movement, but when he turned around again, everything was as it should be. 

He shrugged of his misgivings and laughed at himself. _Maybe we _all_ need a break_, he thought to himself. He breathed a low, long sigh. There wasn't much he could do with the body. It was obvious what the cause of death was, and any incriminating evidence would be found on the gun itself. If Walter did in fact shoot himself, his prints would be all over it. Not to mention ballistics would probably corroborate Brass's story as well. _Or not_, Nick reminded himself, trying to be objective. But it was hard. He was a strong believer in Occam's razor, and this was the simplest explanation he could think of. Shaving away all unnecessary postulations, he was left with only this.

Becoming philosophical, Nick slumped into the bloody chair across from Allan Walter's body and stared at the dead man, applying Occam's razor to the unnatural dread rising up in his belly.

_All things being equal, the simplest solution tends to be the best one._

Instinct told him there was something to fear with this corpse, when rationality reassured him that there was nothing in the immediate vicinity to do him harm. Occam's razor would conclude that Nick's fear was an irrational one which arose from being alone in a dark room with a corpse, and so Nick accepted this explanation and tried to dispel this phobia by grinning at the corpse and making light of the situation. He leaned in on the table and shook his head with a light laugh, considering how tragically humorous this man's death really was. Nick couldn't say it was unpredictable. Allan Walter had just lost his entire family in a matter of hours. More than that, he had watched his wife murder their only daughter, and then he murdered her. There's bound to be baggage there. He wondered if perhaps Allan Walter was better off dead.

Feeling slightly more relaxed after dealing with the fear that he had deemed irrational, Nick leaned back in his chair and gathered the evidence he had collected before rising to his feet and heading towards the door. On his way out, he could have sworn he'd seen Allan Walter's eyes in the mirror, which Nick had closed previously to blind that vacant stare. He thought they were watching him as he left the room. Nick turned around and looked at the corpse, whose eyes were indeed closed. Looking back at the reflection, he noted that they remained so.

Occam's razor would dictate that Nick had just seen a trick of the light, and knowing this, Nick shrugged it off and left the room.

Unbeknownst to Nick, in this instance, Occam's razor was wrong.

* * *

On her way to ballistics, Sara saw Greg who waved at her. 

"You're coming today, yeah?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she said. "Got too much to do. Sorry."

She tried to walk away but he caught her by the shoulder. "Nah, you _have_ to come."

"Why are you throwing a party anyway?" Sara asked, sounding tired.

"Surprise," he said.

"What surprise?" she asked.

"You'll have to come to find out," he said. And with a smile, he headed off. Sara looked after him.

"_What_ surprise?" she called, but he didn't respond. She frowned and tried to focus on the Walter suicide, but found her mind wandering to what Greg's surprise could be. Cursing her curiosity, she continued on her way.

"Bobby," she said upon seeing him. "Check this and see if it's consistent with a suicide."

Bobby took the file and gun from her without even looking up. "Will do in a sec, I'm still trying to figure out how this John Doe got GSR all over him."

"I thought it was fired point blank," Sara said.

"Nah," said Bobby, shaking his head as he examined the photos of Nick and Greg's Hawaiian Shirt man. "Looks that way, but the hole isn't big enough. Gun don't match the bullet either."

"You're kidding," Sara said.

"Nope," Bobby replied. "Greg was annoyed. Looks like he'll be staying longer than he planned."

"Fantastic," Sara said. "I hope mine's more simple. I'll be back later to check on it... But that's odd. He was upset? He seemed happy to see me."

"Well he would be, wouldn't he?" Bobby replied with a grin. "I mean..." He seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. "Never mind."

"What...?" Sara probed slowly.

"Forget it," Bobby answered quickly.

Sara decided to let it go. "OK. Well... hope everything goes more smoothly with my evidence."

"I'll get on it," he promised her. She began to walk away. "You going to Greg's shindig?"

Sara cast him a jaded glance. "I have to, if I want to figure out what the hell it's for."

Bobby looked surprised. "You mean you haven't figured it out?"

Sara shrugged. "It's something I should know, isn't it? What, is it his birthday or something? Did I forget? Will he be mad?" She looked horrified. "Oh god… Should I bring a gift?"

But Bobby was laughing. "Relax, Sara," he said. "Just show up, and you'll give him the best present in the world."

Sara rolled her eyes. The new information Bobby had given her made her wonder even more at Greg's intentions. She felt as though she was forgetting something _very_ important, something she should remember like her own name, and yet it was buried behind memories of crime scene photos and trace evidence logs.

Hoping to _God_ she hadn't forgotten Greg's birthday, she strode off quickly down the hall towards reception, where she was planning on begging the attending secretary to fill her in on all the birthdates of her colleagues.

She stopped short of the desk and her eyes doubled in size as the breath caught in her throat.

Catherine was sitting casually in the waiting room, examining her newly painted red fingernails as her foot bobbed up and down over her knee. She wore a short black leather skirt and a low-hanging crimson halter top which left little to the imagination.

"Catherine!" Sara exclaimed in a low, harsh whisper, as if afraid others might hear. "What are you _doing_?" She hurried over to her colleague, quickly taking off her jacket and throwing it over Catherine's shoulders as the blonde rose to her feet. Catherine shrugged off Sara's jacket apathetically.

"Warrick wanted me to come in," she said, as though she was wearing her usual vest and suit. "I dressed up a little. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Sara said, looking Catherine up and down. "I mean—_do_, do apologize, but… well…" She was confused. "Are those _stilettos_???"

Catherine looked behind her at her feet. "Yes, I think so."

"I didn't need an answer," Sara said. She stayed as far away from stilettos as possible after they had caused her to sprain her ankle once on a very embarrassing date. Ironically, Sara remembered it had been with that Irish guy she'd thought of earlier. She dismissed the thought quickly and focused on Catherine. "Those are _hardly_ appropriate work shoes!"

"Depends on what the work is," Catherine said slyly.

"Put some clothes on, you're embarrassing yourself!" Sara insisted, throwing the jacket over Catherine's shoulders again. Catherine took it off and handed it back to Sara.

"No, thank you," she said.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked again, still baffled.

Catherine smiled. "Making the best of it," she said.

"Best of _what_?" Sara exclaimed. Standing next to Catherine wearing her slacks and t-shirt, she felt incredibly underdressed and wondered at her concern for this trivial thing.

"If I'm going to be called a whore," Catherine said bitterly, "I might as well act the part."

She began to walk off down the hall, her stilettos echoing loudly. But Sara wasn't done. "No one called you a whore!" she screamed down the hall, making a few passersby stop to give her a strange look. As Catherine disappeared around the corner, Sara looked up at the ceiling, appealing to some unknown higher power. "It may be a slow night," she said to herself. "But that doesn't mean it hasn't been weird."

* * *

Nick was in the break room when his surprise encounter with Catherine occurred. He heard her come in and say hello to him. He smiled as he poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. 

"Hey, Cath," he said, not looking up from the coffee. "Glad you could make it, Grissom was going to make me—"

Nick almost spilt the hot liquid all over himself when he turned and took in the sight before him. Catherine was leaning against the closed door of the break room and she was sending him a very seductive smile.

Nick's eyebrows shot up, not knowing exactly what to make of the situation. "Uh… coffee?"

She slowly made her way over to him, her eyes never leaving his. Her manicured fingers slowly slid around the Styrofoam cup, purposefully brushing against Nick's own hand. As soon as Nick was sure she had a good grip on the cup, he pulled his hand away quickly and took a few steps backward.

Catherine licked her lips as she slowly sipped the coffee. "Mm…" she said, a little too happily.

"Uh…" Nick muttered, still searching for words as his throat constricted in fear. He coughed. "What are you doing? I mean, uh, that's not exactly what you normally…"

"Sh," Catherine whispered, waving her finger at him. She put the coffee down on the table and approached him again. Her fingers traced his belt and her hands crawled under his shirt.

"_Oh_ no!" Nick said suddenly, pushing her away as he laughed awkwardly. "Um, Cath, you know you're gorgeous, girl, but I got things to do."

"Oh come _on_, Nick," Catherine said, her voice low and sensual. "I've seen the way you look at me during the day. You _want_ me."

"No more than I want to work a double, Cath, which is what I'm doing, which is what we're _both_ doing actually, so why don't you go and change your clothes, put on some sneakers and a _very_ baggy sweatshirt, and we can get back to work, alright?" Nick was babbling. He hoped maybe his rambling would distract her long enough for her to come to her senses.

She continued to pursue him and he backed up against the table. As his hands fumbled for something to hold onto, he knocked over the coffee and the coffee pot, which spilt all over the table and dripped onto the floor. She forced him to jump up on the table and tried to straddle him. She bit his neck hard and he yelped, taking her firmly shoulders and gently pushed her away, deftly avoiding a very sticky situation. He made for the door.

"I gotta go, Cath," he said quickly, rubbing where she'd bitten him on his neck. "I'll, uh, see you later." He ducked out as fast as possible and let out a sigh of relief as he leaned against the door. He saw Grissom about to enter the break room and advised him against it. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

Grissom frowned at him and was about to ask why when he looked past Nick through the glass window and saw Catherine watching them. Furious, he pushed Nick aside and walked briskly into the break room. "What in the world are you wearing?" he demanded.

She sat on the table and kicked her feet back and forth, licking her finger.

"Do you like it?" she returned.

Grissom shook his head. "You left without a word and then you come back dressed like this? What's wrong with you?"

She hopped off the table and approached him. "What do you _want_ to be wrong with me?" She ran her hand up and down his arm and removed his glasses, grinning impishly.

Sufficiently awkward, Grissom went from angry to worried, to exceptionally self-conscious all in the course of three seconds. "Um…" he said, looking for those elusive words of authority. "Why don't you go home, Catherine," he suggested, his voice betraying his insecurities. "You seem… ill."

"I feel perfectly fine," she whispered confidently in his ear.

"OK…" said Grissom, chills running down his spine. He was backed up against the door now as she pressed up against him. He snatched his glasses back from her. "Then maybe _I'm_ sick. I'll see you later."

He quickly fumbed with the knob on the door behind him, opened it, and closed it again with a sigh, locking Catherine in like a dangerous animal. He looked at Nick absolutely terrified, but Nick was chuckling.

"Wow, Griss," he said, shaking his head. "Didn't know you were such a ladies' man."

In the safety of the hallway, Grissom's terror dissolved into annoyance once again. "Get her out of here," he said. "I think she's coming down with something. Something bad."

Nick shook his head. "Oh no," he said. "I'm not going in there again. You got off _easy_. She didn't try to take your shirt off."

Grissom frowned. He tried not to picture this image in his head, failed, and deftly shook his head quickly to clear it. "Just do _something_. I can't have her walking around here like that. I can only imagine the field day _Ecklie_ would have with her."

Nick cocked an eyebrow. "In what sense, exactly?"

Grissom's eyes narrowed, offended on Catherine's behalf. "In the _Ecklie_ sense. He'll call her behavior unprofessional–"

"Which, let's not forget, it _is_," Nick put in.

Grissom nodded. "Yes, but he'll find some way to use it against her and she could get _fired_."

"Right," Nick said, his amusement disappearing quickly as Grissom reminded him of the gravity of the situation. "I'll get Sara to deal with her. Unless you think Catherine will try to seduce _her_ too."

"Even if she does," Grissom said, looking back at Catherine in the break room. "Sara will have none of it."

"No kidding," Nick said, taking out his phone and dialing Sara.

The ringing came from two places: Nick's receiver and somewhere in the hall. All of a sudden, Sara rounded the corner, taking out her phone as Nick hung up. "Sara!" he called. "We have a situation."

"Did Brass let someone _else_ die?" Sara asked.

"No," said Nick. "But Catherine looks dressed to kill."

Sara frowned, then recognition dawned on her face. "Oh yeah," she said. "I know, I saw her earlier."

"You saw her earlier and you didn't send her home?" Grissom sounded shocked.

Sara simply shrugged. "It didn't seem like such a problem. Just weird."

"So I take it she didn't try to take _your_ shirt off?" Nick asked.

Sara looked appalled. "What?"

Nick gestured into the break room. "Catherine pounced on Grissom and me. Not that it was entirely unpleasant, just… weird."

"Weird is a very good word," Grissom agreed.

"Men," Sara muttered before pushing past them and entering the break room. Catherine looked up upon her entrance. "Catherine, Grissom thinks you should go home."

"But I just came all the way back over here," Catherine said, pouting. "I'm not leaving until I see Warrick."

"OK, fine," Sara said. "Go see Warrick and then go home."

Catherine yawned. "You people. First you call me in, then you tell me to go, next thing I know you'll be calling me in again."

"Did you hit on Nick?" Sara asked. "And Grissom?"

Catherine smiled coyly. "Why? Jealous?"

Sara opened her mouth to snap back defensively but instead just snapped it shut. She didn't know why Catherine's words had bothered her. "No," she said simply. "They just said you scared them. That you were being 'weird.'"

"Aw, and I had hoped to make an impression," Catherine sighed, sounding disappointed.

"Oh, you made an impression alright," she said. She paused. "Come on, let's get you home and into a more conservative outfit."

Catherine nodded and accommodated. As she followed Sara out the door, she winked at Nick and Grissom, who looked at each other in confusion.

Sara led Catherine down the hall, checking over her shoulder every so often. She was muttering to herself. "I can't believe those guys, acting like children who want their parents to go in and squish a spider. Like they really needed _me_ to talk to, you don't seem _that_ unreasonable. So are you OK to drive home or do I need to take you?" But by the time Sara turned around again, Catherine was gone. Sara sighed. She did not need to add babysitting her friend to the list of things she didn't want to do that day. Right after 'figure out what the hell Greg's party is for.'

Of course, maybe she should prioritize the list.

Sighing, she retraced her steps, hoping to find some trace of the very sick Catherine.


	4. Stiletto Heals and Verbal Vomit

**_Author's Note:_** I always have a favorite chapter in every story. This. Is. It. Keep reviewing, you guys are frickin awesome. Shokran habibis! (Thank you, dears!)

* * *

Greg opened his locker, frustrated, and threw his bag back into it. Now that they had found the wrong gun, he had to go back to the crime scene and scour it all over again. And he thought he'd be done before noon! How the hell was he supposed to plan a party if he was stuck at work all day? 

When he closed his locker again, it was to a beautiful blonde wearing heavy eyeliner. "Hey, stranger," she said.

Greg cocked an eyebrow at the woman until he recognized her and then suddenly stumbled backwards. "Jesus, Catherine, you scared me!" he exclaimed, nearly tripping over the bench. He sat down on it instead. "What is that, anyway, a Halloween costume? Um, it's like… still September… Little early..."

"I am aware of the time of year, Greg," Catherine said, sliding slowly over to him. She put one of her stiletto heals up on the bench next to him. Greg's eyes flew from her knee, which was right by his shoulder, up to her face.

"Uh… is this some sort of prank?" he asked her. "Is Nick hiding somewhere with a camera to see how far I'll go with this?"

Catherine leaned in close so she was inches away from Greg's face as her hand ran up and down his arm. "No joke," she whispered. "I want you, Greg."

These words shocked Greg so much he fell over the bench backwards and hit his head on the row of lockers behind him. "Ah…" he said, rubbing the back of his head. Catherine vaulted the bench and kneeled down next to Greg, stroking his hair.

"Aw…" she said. "Poor baby."

"OK," Greg said, sitting up as Catherine continued to run her hand through his hair. "That ought to have been sufficient material enough to laugh at. You can come out now, Nick!"

But no one made a sound. It seemed as though Greg and Catherine were alone in the locker room. Greg's eyes grew wide with worry and they darted around the room for something to distract Catherine with. He found nothing. He straightened up, his back against the lockers as Catherine's second hand was now entangling itself in his hair too, moving slowly down his cheek, to his shoulder, over his chest…

"OK, Catherine," Greg said, not knowing what to do exactly as she began to unbutton his shirt. He glanced around. "Um. Listen. I, uh, I don't think you're acting quite like yourself—"

His last word was muffled by Catherine's soft lips, which pressed firmly against his own, and her tongue slipped into his mouth. For a moment, Greg was so surprised, yet somehow pleased, that he let it go on. As her hands wandered further south and reached into his pants, Greg began to freak out again as he forcefully broke the kiss and jumped out of her reach.

"Whoa, Catherine!" he said, buttoning up his shirt again, thoroughly disturbed. His jaw kept opening and closing, trying to figure out what to do. "This is sufficiently awkward, let's just… stop. OK?"

Catherine wiped at her lips and smiled. "Why are you so resistant?"

"Why am I resistant?!" Greg's voice was unusually high. "Um. I work with you? You're _Catherine_?"

"Both true," she said. "But both invalid reasons to refuse me."

Greg was about to retort but held his tongue when he realized she was right. Why _was_ he being reluctant? After all, Catherine Willows was, in a word, hot. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then all the reasons came to him.

All too late, however, and Greg realized he shouldn't have closed his eyes as once again his thoughts were interrupted by Catherine's passionate kiss. His eyes snapped open. He wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. He tried to say her name, but it was muffled by her kiss. He pulled his head back and pushed her away again. "_Catherine!_" he cried out. "Please, why are you doing this?"

Catherine twirled her hair around her finger, innocently. "You didn't give me a good enough reason not to."

"I was _about_ to," Greg snapped. "If you would have listened!"

Catherine planted her hand against the locker right next to Greg's ear.

"I don't want to listen," she whispered and she began to kiss his neck.

"Oh no," Greg said as Catherine found his soft spot. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to think about terribly horrifying things. The problem was, the only gross things he could think of were dead bodies, which made him think of work, which made him think of _Catherine_. Frustrated, he chose a different path. Bunnies. _Headless_ bunnies. Wow, that was scary. Those furry things would be hopping through his head for a while. Yup, that did the trick. Uh… not quite. Getting frantic, he kept going. Bugs. Cockroaches. Grissom. OK, that was _definitely _it, Greg was ready after that last thought. "Catherine, I want to talk to you."

"Go ahead and talk then," Catherine said, unbuttoning his top few buttons again as she continued to kiss his neck and shoulder.

"We can't do this because we're colleagues and we should keep things professional. Also, because I respect you as a person, and I don't think you really want this. And, listen, you know that Sara—where did your hands just go?" Greg jumped back surprised. _Insects. Centipedes. Tiny little bugs crawling everywhere. Grissom. Works every time._ "OK! OK! No hands!" Greg snatched her hands and held them in his own.

She looked up at him and grinned. "Kinky," she said.

Greg dropped her hands suddenly and shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean—"

They started wandering again and Greg wondered how he would get out of this mess. This was so _beyond_ sexual harassment. And the annoying thing was, he was fighting to _not_ enjoy it.

Headless bunnies. Bugs. Grissom. Shit.

"Catherine!" Greg cried out as she finished unbuttoning his shirt button by button, slowly kneeling down and kissing his chest. He knew where this was going. "_Catherine!_"

"Greg?"

Both Catherine and Greg started at the voice and turned to look at Sara who was staring at them looking utterly appalled. Catherine straightened up immediately and Greg looked at Sara like a deer in the headlights, quickly buttoning up his shirt and the top of his pants.

"Sara," he said, breathless. "This is _not_ what it looks like."

Sara glanced down, then back up at Greg's face. "No?"

Greg looked down too. _Aw, man…Bunnies. Bugs. Grissom. Bunnies. Bugs. Grissom._

"I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine said casually, sounding as though she had committed a minor offense. "It's just, well, when _you_ didn't want him, I thought I'd help myself."

Greg could tell that Sara was fuming. "You," she said pointing at Catherine. "Here. Now." She looked at Greg. "You. Just…" She glanced down again, then looked as if she regretted it. "Calm yourself down and… Get to work."

"Right!" Greg said, too happy to oblige. "I'm on it!"

"Greg," Catherine called, her eyes resting on Sara coolly. "Stay where you are."

Greg rocked back and forth on his feet, wanting to listen to Sara, but Catherine was the assistant supervisor. He didn't know what to do.

"Catherine's in no position to be giving orders right now," Sara said, sounding equally icy as she stared at Catherine.

"I _am_ the assistant supervisor," Catherine said, striding over toward Sara.

"And I am a girl on her last nerve." Sara looked at Greg. "Who are you more afraid of?"

Greg nodded and ran out of the locker room as fast as possible.

Neither woman moved for a long time. Eventually, a smile formed on Catherine's lips. "What's the matter, Sara? Threatened?"

"Not at all," Sara replied. "More worried than anything. Catherine, are you OK? Greg makes the third guy you've seduced in the past half hour, and we all know his resistance is definitely not as high as Nick's or Grissom's. And you can't _use_ your position to warrant sexual _favors_, Catherine, you know that! This is _completely_ unlike you. You practically raped him. You're just lucky he probably won't press charges because he's Greg, and you're, well, Catherine."

"Why does everyone keep saying that like it's so surprising?" Catherine asked. "I'm Catherine. I know who I am, Sara."

"Do you?" Sara asked. "Because I'm not so sure anymore."  
Catherine sighed and folded her arms. "You're just jealous," Catherine hissed. "Because she should have been _your_ baby."

Sara cocked an eyebrow. "Right… Catherine, come with me, I'm going to take you to the hospit—"

Sara was cut off as all the lockers simultaneously blew open and things came flying out of them. Sara knocked Catherine off her feet and pushed them both on the floor. And just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Sara rolled off of Catherine and looked at her, baffled.

"OK," she said. "Scientifically explain that."

Catherine shrugged, looking just as shocked as Sara. Sara was thoroughly disturbed as she got to her feet. She felt an undeserved fury towards Catherine and she didn't know why. "I'll have Sofia take you to the hospital," she said. "You… I can't _deal_ with you right now."

"Suit yourself," said Catherine, rising to her feet as well. She looked down at her outfit. "Oh my God…"

"Oh your God what?" Sara asked.

"Am I wearing a leather mini skirt?" Catherine looked aghast.

"Are you OK?" Sara asked, although her anger was rising and she fought to contain it. How _dare_ she pretend she didn't know what she was doing. She wasn't crazy, she was _Catherine_, and she was acting like a slut because she thought she could get away with it. Sara shocked herself at her own thoughts.

Catherine looked confused. "I don't know…" she said. "But you're right, I think I should go to the hospital." She wrinkled her face in disgust and gagged. "Oh my God…" she said, sounding physically ill. "Sara, did I just _kiss_ Greg Sanders?"

_That little bitch!_ Sara jumped at the unwanted thought. "Did more than kissing," Sara replied calmly, successfully keeping the rage from her voice.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Catherine slowly made her way past Sara to the exit, looking nauseous.

"Catherine?" Sara said, turning to her friend in the doorway. "What happened, back at that crime scene?"

Catherine shivered and rubbed her arms. "I don't know," she said. "But Sara, listen to me—Everything I did, it was like… I was there, but I wasn't. I knew what was happening, I almost—I almost _wanted_ it to happen. But I didn't want it to… happen… I'm not making any sense. Let me try and say it another way, uh… Do you ever have thoughts that feel foreign?"

"Foreign?" Sara tried not to sound too amused.

"Yeah, I mean…" Catherine sighed in frustration. "You think them, but you know they're not your thoughts. Do you get that?"

Sara shook her head a little too vehemently. "Are you…" No, she couldn't ask her that. It was Catherine, which meant it wasn't possible. "Never mind."

"What is it Sara?" Catherine asked wearily, straightening out her skirt.

Sara bit her lip. "You're not… I don't think you're…" Sara sighed and shook her head. "I don't mean any offense, but you're not… taking… anything, are you?"

Catherine stopped pulling at her clothes and looked up at her. The two women stared at each other for a long time. "No," Catherine finally said, something indeterminable in her voice. Sara doubted it was guilt, but it was some other deeper, more primal emotion. Something Catherine masked well. Like fear. "Unless someone slipped me something."

Sara shrugged, her strange anger suddenly fleeing as quickly as it had come. She suddenly felt the urge to apologize for it. "I'm… sorry."

Catherine frowned. "For what? You didn't do anything. I'm the one who…" she closed her eyes and opened them again, making a disgusted face at Sara. "Oh God, Nick… and Grissom… Aw…"

Sara smiled and patted Catherine on the shoulder. When they touched, something happened between them and both women felt it very strongly. They turned to each other seeing different eyes. They broke away instantly. Catherine fell into the locker room while Sara jumped out into the hall. It was like a shock of electricity had passed through both of them, with emotions and thoughts of animosity that neither woman dared to voice for fear that it might unleash something inside of them, something dark and unwelcome.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but stood agape as nothing came out. She couldn't breathe. She could feel the hate radiating from Sara like a nuclear bomb. She felt the frustration and mistrust as though they were her own, but knew no reason to mistrust Sara Sidle.

Sara licked her lips and bit down hard, fighting the urge to reach out and snap Catherine's neck. But she was afraid of her too. And betrayed. But Catherine Willows had never done anything to Sara to make her call Catherine a traitor.

Slowly, Catherine stepped forward, reaching out to the person she had moments ago called friend. "Lizbeth…" she whispered.

"Get away from me…" The words were cold as they slipped through Sara's teeth.

Tears began to streak down Catherine's face and she smiled miserably. "Oh, Lizbeth… You never before—"

"I had my reasons," Sara interrupted sharply.

"What exactly have you come to do?" Catherine asked, breathless.

Sara ground her teeth. "Destroy you."

Sara reached out and seized Catherine's wrist, and as quickly as it had come, the electricity left them, making them both feel exhausted and alone. Sara looked down at Catherine's wrist, which she clutched with wild ferocity, then looked up deep into her colleague's wide eyes. Both women were breathing hard.

"What in the hell was that?" Sara asked, gasping for air.

Catherine just shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving Sara's. Her face contorted as she gripped her stomach in a sudden wave of nausea and she doubled over, vomiting onto the floor.

Tentatively, Sara reached out a hand and lightly touched Catherine on the back. When nothing happened, she pressed her palm harder against her, comforting, as she softly pulled back Catherine's hair as she wretched up her fear. "You're not yourself. You shouldn't be working a double in that condition."

When she was done, Catherine stood there, breathing hard, the stench of her own stomach contents invading her nostrils. It was almost enough to make her do it again. But she simply sniffed, her back rising and falling steadily under Sara's warm hand.

"Sara…" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I… I don't know what to say."

Sara pulled a stray strand of hair back from Catherine's face and into the pony tail she held with her other hand. "You don't need to say anything," Sara assured her. "Because nothing happened."

Catherine swallowed and straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes were a deep blue sea of emotions and thoughts she did not voice. Instead, she said simply, "OK."

It was all just too much for either of them to contemplate. They both knew that they would never be able to explain it rationally, and picking it to pieces would drive them mad, assuming they weren't mad already, which was another concept they refused to consider. Denial was the sweetest of defenses.

Sara reassured Catherine with a confident smile, her own eyes barely betraying her shaken nerves. "It'll be alright. Just… go home, get some sleep. You'll be OK. Tell Grissom—"

"Oh Sara…" said Catherine, shaking her head. "I can _not_ look at them right now."

As though the Gods were punishing her at that moment Nick entered the room. "Hey Sara I— Um. Hi… Catherine…"

Catherine put her hand up to her forehead and shaded her eyes from view as she turned around. "Ugh…"

Nick tried to dispel the awkwardness by addressing Sara. "So Bobby said to tell you a definite yes on the suicide," Nick said.

"Fantastic," Sara said. "Brass didn't kill anyone and I can go to sleep."

But Nick looked doubtful. "Sara, what about that—"

"It was nothing," Sara said quickly, anticipating Nick's concerns. "Just me. Being foolish."

"OK," Nick said and opened his mouth to say something else when he saw the mess Catherine had made. "Uh…" he glanced at Catherine, whose back was facing him as she bowed her head in shame. "Is she…?"

"She's going home," Sara explained quickly, glancing at Catherine. "She's not feeling well at all." She quickly changed the subject. "Hey Nick, do you know why Greg is throwing this party?"

Nick's gaze lingered on Catherine's back as he was unwilling to change the subject, but eventually he shrugged. "Uh… Beats me."

"Thank you!" Sara exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "Bobby knows. He made me feel like it was something I should remember."

All of a sudden, realization dawned on Nick's face and he smiled, nodding. "Oh yeah, that's right, it's—" but then he interrupted himself. "Wow. So did Bobby tell you why?"

"No?" Sara said, expectantly.

Catherine spun around quickly and tried to walk past Sara and Nick. "Sara, I'm just gonna…"

"You're not going anywhere, Catherine," Sara said, catching the blonde by the arm. She was still looking at Nick. "Well?"

Nick was laughing. "Really, Sara! You don't know? Wow, now I really should go."

"You weren't going before?" Sara said.

"Well honestly…"

"I'm only going out because Greg won't tell me what it's about otherwise," Sara said. "Although I refuse to wear a bikini."

"It's a shame," Nick said, laughing, then stopped when he caught sight of Catherine, who was trying to shrink away into the background. Nick's laugh turned to an awkward cough. "Um… I'm going to go… make sure everything was done right with the whole Walter suicide case. See you at the party, Sara."

Sara sighed, then turned to Catherine. "_You_ don't happen to know what the party's for, do you?"

"Well how the _hell_ should I know, Sara?" Catherine snapped. All of a sudden, her demeanor changed. "I'm sorry, Sara… I don't know where that came from. I think I'm just tired."

The anger was back again. "Go find Sofia," she hissed through her teeth. "You disgust me."

Catherine glared at her before stalking off in the opposite direction. The anger shivered inside of Sara and reverberated throughout her entire body.

She heard Greg call out her name as he approached her from behind. "Hey, Sara, about your dead baby case—"

Sara spun around on her heal and shot daggers at Greg. "_You_!" she shouted. "What the hell did you think you were doing in there?"

Greg looked surprised, and a little embarrassed. "I, uh… Listen, Sara, I know what you saw, but I was fighting it all the way."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, I'm sure," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "I bet there was nothing you could do."

"Hey!" Greg said, holding his hands up defensively. "There _was_ nothing I could do short of _hurting_ her!"

"I think she could handle the rejection," Sara said.

"No, I mean _physically_ hurting her," Greg clarified. "She was all _over_ me, and she's a whole lot stronger than she looks. Wouldn't take no for an answer, but I swear I tried real hard to get her to leave me alone."

"You? Physically hurt someone?" Sara scoffed.

But her words seemed to hurt him as he turned cold. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Look, Catherine's sick," Sara said. "But even in her condition, you couldn't hurt her."

"You don't know a damn thing about what I could do," Greg said, annoyed. "It's what I _won't_ do that you're thinking about. And you're right. I would _never_ hurt Catherine. Or you. Or anyone else in this lab for that matter. So screw you."

"Oh, that's a fine way to talk," Sara snapped. "Listen, next time, keep it in your pants."

Greg looked flabbergasted. "You know what? If you're going to be bitchy about it, don't bother coming to the party."

"I wasn't planning on coming anyway," she said, like a child sticking her tongue out at her brother.

"Good," said Greg, throwing his hands in the air. "Might as well cancel the whole thing." He pushed past her angrily and made his way down the hall. Sara turned on her heal and watched him storm off.

"Hey!" she shouted. "What was the damn thing for, anyway?"

Greg stopped and his back went rigid. It fell as he sighed. He turned around and walked right back over to her until he was inches away from her face. He raised an accusatory finger, fully intending on shoving something in her face, but he held back, and he dropped his hand. He sighed and shook his head slowly. "You really don't know, do you? You have _no idea_."

Sara was grinding her teeth. "If you're not having it anymore, what does it matter? _Tell_ me, for God's sake or I'll break something."

Greg smiled and shook his head. "Jesus, Sara… It was for _you._ For your birthday."

"My—" Understanding dawned in her eyes as she slapped her hand to my forehead. "Oh my…"

"Yeah," said Greg. "You forgot your own birthday. But I didn't. And you can forget about a present too." He turned away again and began down the hall, hesitating one last time, his back to her. "And don't worry about breaking something," he said. "You already have."

Sara's shoulders slumped, heavy with the burden of guilt. She sighed. She wanted to run over and apologize. But she was too stubborn for that. And she knew he would still be hurt. She bit her lip and had another idea. She spun around to find Nick.


	5. In Which The Ghosts Take a Break

**_Author's Note:_** I'm having difficulty with the ending to this story... you may or may not have to wait (gasp!). Considering I rarely keep you waiting long, I'm sure you can be patient. A note to fans of _Slither:_ Its sequel, _Collateral Damage_ is on its way and I gotta tell you... I kinda perfer it to this story, so it's been getting most of my attention. So while I've been writing (and re-writing) the ending of this story, I've also been writing the beginning of _Collateral Damage_, which, for you Sandle fans, will include plenty more Greg and Sara romance scenes than _Slither _did. This was basically a long-winded warning that you may have to wait more than a day between some chapters.

* * *

While sincerely searching for Sofia to drive her home, Catherine saw Warrick. Her eyes went wide and she tried to walk in the opposite direction, not wanting him to see her like this but as she did, she saw Greg and groaned. She turned away again, realizing she was caught between a rock and a very hard place. Greg seemed to see her too, but he didn't turn away in embarrassment like she did. On the contrary, he jogged towards her. His face was blank. 

"Catherine." He spoke flatly and curtly. Strictly business.

Catherine closed her eyes and sighed. "Listen, Greg, I'm really sorry about—"

"I don't care about that right now," Greg said. "I have two things for you. First—the party's cancelled. Second, about your dead ba— I mean, the Walter infanticide."

Catherine held up a hand. "Go tell Sara," she said. "And I'm in no mood to go to any party anyway, Greg."

Greg nodded. "Yeah," he said. "No one is."

Catherine felt intensely sorry for Greg, on top of her embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that," she said. "I just… haven't been myself lately."

"I noticed," Greg said, then seemed to grow very self-conscious. "Um, listen, Sara's mad at me about that, so I can't really talk to her, but your infanticide case, well, there's this urban legend…"

"No, Greg," Catherine interrupted. "No urban legends. Look, I have a huge headache, I am going to go home, take a bath, and just go to sleep and hope this jungle fever goes away before next shift. What time is it?"

Greg looked at his watch. " Ten o'clock."

"Fantastic," Catherine said with a sigh.

"Catherine!" She cringed at the voice, but turned around sheepishly. Warrick looked her up and down with a grin. "That's some outfit," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Catherine muttered, rolling her eyes. "Warrick, could you take me home? I'm feeling kind of dizzy."

"You should tell Grissom," Warrick said. "Last time—"

"Believe me," Catherine said quickly. "He'll be glad that I _didn't_ tell him."

"Aw, Catherine," Greg said, shaking his head. "Grissom too?"

"You shut up," Catherine snapped, but he was grinning.

"What happened with Grissom?" Warrick was obviously confused. Greg opened his mouth to reply when Catherine hit him.

"Nothing happened," she said quickly. "Take me home?"

Warrick smiled at her warmly. "Sure."

* * *

Nick was in the trace lab, talking to Hodges when Sara found him. "What are you doing?" she asked. "That's not our evidence." 

Nick looked up. "Nah. It's Greg's. I told Warrick I'd take the case back from him, I think he's driving Catherine home. What's up?"

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Sara said.

"We're kind of busy here, Sara, if you don't mind," Hodges said.

Nick looked from Hodges then to Sara and decided to ignore him. "Shoot," he said.

"Greg and I kind of had a little tiff," she said. "And now he's cancelled the party."

Hodges muttered something but both Sara and Nick ignored it.

"Aw, Sara," said Nick. "You know he was only doing it for you."

Sara sighed. "I know. That's why I need you to help me make it up to him."

Nick smiled at her warmly. "Sure," he said. "What do you need?"

"Nick," Grissom said, entering the lab. "Brass has a suspect in custody for your Hawaiian Shirt. Have you seen Greg?"

"He went back to the crime scene," Hodges answered for Nick. "To find the gun."

Grissom nodded. "Well… this guy _has_ the gun. He's admitting to everything. I need you to test his hands for GSR, see if his story lines up." Grissom moved to leave then paused. "Oh, and make sure he doesn't kill himself like the last guy, would you? The last thing we need is Ecklie throwing a tantrum again."

Nick laughed. "Sure thing, boss," he said as Grissom left.

"Well," said Sara. "Our cases just seem to solve themselves tonight, don't they?"

"Freaky coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Nick replied.

Sara shrugged. "Whatever, so long as it means I can leave."

"Leave… Aw, I should call Greg." Nick pulled out his phone and dialed. "He'll be pissed if he's already on his way to the crime scene."

"I think he's already pissed." Sara sounded guilty, so Nick gave her a reassuring smile as he waited for Greg to answer.

"What did you want to do again?" he asked. Sara opened her mouth to answer him, but Nick held up his hand to stop her. "Hey, Greg? Um… where are you?... Great, that's not far. Come back… The suspect came in, he has a gun… Yeah, I know, big waste of time… cancelled? That bites, man." Nick saw Sara flush a little. "Well, if you think it's for the best… Nah, don't talk like that, of course she would have appreciated it." Sara's flush deepened. "Listen, call me when you get here. I'm out." He looked at Sara. "_Damn_, what did you say to him?"

Sara sighed. "I caught Catherine seducing him and his shirt was unbuttoned and you should have seen the direction her mouth was going—" There was a crash and both Sara and Nick turned to Hodges, who had knocked some vials off the table. He looked up at the two CSIs sheepishly as he hopped off the chair and began to clean them up.

"Sorry…" he muttered. "Catherine was hitting on Sanders?"

Sara chuckled, seeing Hodges' obvious irritation. "Relax, Hodges, she's not herself today."

"Well _obviously_. I mean, _Greg Sanders_?" Hodges continued to mutter to himself as he picked up the glass.

"You wanted a favor?" Nick asked Sara. She smiled back at him.

* * *

"Want to tell me what's going on with you?" Warrick asked as he drove Catherine home. Ever since she'd stepped into the car she'd been very quiet. She didn't answer any of his questions, and this last one was no exception. Warrick sighed. "Look, Cath, if something's wrong, we can talk about it…" He glanced over at his friend, who stared resolutely out the window with her arms folded. She would never answer him. 

Warrick opened his mouth to speak again and then decided against it. She probably wouldn't answer that question either. Things weren't well with Tina. He wanted to talk about it with her. He'd already tried talking to Nick about it, but his friend had been surprisingly unhelpful. Warrick didn't seem able to express his concerns quite right. Nick was one of Warrick's best friends, but…

"Tina is…" he searched for the words. "I think she's still messing around. I'm not home nearly enough. But there's something else… You don't mind that I'm talking to you about this do you?" Her silence meant that she wasn't protesting, so Warrick continued. "I think… well… When I come home, she smells like perfume, but not the kind she normally wears, and I found the strangest thing on her computer the other day, and I was wondering, you know, as a woman you might be able to explain it to me because I've been jumping to some very sketchy conclusions… Would you help me out?" This time, Warrick refused to take silence as an answer. "Catherine, talk to me," he said, sounding tired.

"OK," Catherine replied flatly. "What did you find?"

Warrick smiled at her answer, glad that she had been listening to him. For a while, he hadn't been too sure. "Well," he said, "this is hard to say but… they were photographs. Of… women. Naked women." This caused Catherine to look over at him and raise an eyebrow. Warrick glanced at her. "What's that, you know, mean? I mean, it's not _porn_, per sey, I mean no one's having sex, they're just… naked… and I know why men look at those kind of photos, but… Listen, I could only think of one answer, but I don't want to assume anything if there's some other feminine reason for the things she does because—"

"Warrick, your wife is a lesbian," Catherine interrupted curtly.

Warrick's shoulders fell and his face was the perfect portrait of confusion. "But… we love each other. Why would she…?"

"Some women don't like to admit it," Catherine said. "Just like men. There are just as many taboos. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe she didn't meet the right girl until recently. Maybe she was scared. I think she really does love you, Warrick. Don't think that she doesn't."

"Damn," Warrick said, pulling up outside of Catherine's house. "I really don't want to have that conversation."

Catherine opened the door but smiled at Warrick. "Nobody ever does," she said. "I'm sorry, Warrick."

Warrick smiled at her. "Hey," he said. "Don't you worry about it. Be sure to rest up before Greg's party today."

"Nah," Catherine waved away his concern. "Greg said the party's been cancelled."

"No way!" Warrick cried. "I thought it was a sort of surprise party, for Sara."

"It was," Catherine nodded. "I think they got in a fight and now he just doesn't feel like going through with it."

"Shame," Warrick said. "Maybe I could change his mind."

"Mm," Catherine muttered. "Have a nice day."

"You too," Warrick called after her as she closed the door and went inside her house.

Warrick was about to head home himself when his cell phone began to ring. "Brown," he answered.

"Warrick," came Nick's voice. "Listen, Sara and I need a favor of you…"

* * *

Greg punched the steering wheel hard with his hand, absolutely frustrated with the way his day was going. Which was ironic, as when he had woken up, he had been sure that it was going to be a good night. He had his party for Sara all planned out, it had started slow, and he was sure he would have been able to get off work early. How everything could change in a few hours was beyond him, and none of it was even his fault. Slowly he backed out of the parking lot he'd turned into after receiving Nick's call and headed back to the lab. 

He was furious with Sara, but mostly because of how much her words had bothered him. As usual, his thoughts were saturated with her face, but this time it only made him angrier.

His cell jolted him out of his anger. "_What_?" he snapped angrily into the phone.

"Greg," came Grissom's voice. "Listen, I'm going to have to ask you to finish out your double shift."

Greg groaned. "Aw, Grissom, why?"

"Everyone else from graveyard already headed home, and dayshift is shorthanded. Also, you'll have to finish off your John Doe case without Nick. Sofia will try and be of some assistance, and Brass is still here too."

"But no CSIs?" Greg asked.

He could hear the smile in Grissom's voice. "Well you have me."

"Right," Greg said. "Fun. Be right there." Greg hung up and threw the phone into the passenger seat. He shook his head as he stared at the road.

He remembered the Walter case and the story he had been so eager to share with Sara until they started arguing. The case had brought echoes of familiarity to Greg, and it had taken him a few hours to place it, but when he did, it had sent shivers down his spine.

He had called it an urban legend because urban legend it was, a story that was, in all likelihood, completely fictional, but instilled fear in people because how realistic it sounded, and how disgustingly brutal its end was. The story of the disgraced teenage mother, who had an affair with an older man and when her baby was born, she killed it to hide her shame. When the father found out, he killed the mother and then killed himself.

Sara and Catherine's case had seemed to ring to true to the legend. It had been around for decades. Greg remembered first hearing it as a ghost story in middle school, with the ending being that the anguished mother was damned to wander the Earth endlessly for the punishment of her unforgivable sin. His own mother, who had always been conservative in nature, had used it as an anti-abortion fable, until Greg pointed out that killing a child _after_ it was born was infanticide. This only caused his mother to alter the story to say that the teenage mother had gotten a bloody abortion, and was still damned to hell.

Greg sighed. He didn't much want to think about his mother _or_ abortions. So he thought about Sara, and realized that he didn't really want to think about her either. He honked his horn in annoyance, causing a few other cars to honk back at him in reply. But as he pulled into the parking lot, Greg couldn't help but think of Sara. This was not unusual, as when Greg tended to get bored of other tangents, his thoughts had always gravitated to the cute brunette. The only difference now was that when he thought of her he felt angry and embarrassed, and maybe even a little remorseful. Maybe he had been too quick to decide against the party. She had looked guilty after he'd told her what it was for.

Sighing and slamming the door to his car, Greg reluctantly went back inside, where Grissom was waiting for him.

" Sofia is waiting for you in there with your suspect," he said. "He's handed over the gun." Grissom handed Greg the gun in an evidence bag. "Send it over to ballistics, see if it matches the bullet."

"Like you couldn't have done that," Greg muttered. He caught the shadow of a smile flicker across Grissom's face as he dragged his feet into the interrogation room. It was like Grissom was purposefully trying to keep him as busy as possible. He wondered what he had done to deserve that.

He sat himself down next to Sofia across from the suspect and slouched in his chair as she began the questioning.

* * *

Warrick made his way over to Sara's apartment, checking his watch. One o'clock. Sara and Nick were really cutting into his sleep time. _This better be worth it_, he thought. Of course, the alternative was going home to see Tina, and have that very awkward discussion with her, and he wanted to put that off for as long as possible. His thoughts drifted over to Catherine as he wondered what was wrong with her. The others had told him to let her rest, but he'd offered to go and get her before everything went down. 

After parking the car, Warrick walked up to the building and leaned against the wall as he hit the buzzer. Without even the flicker of conversation over the intercom, the door unlocked, and Warrick headed upstairs toward Sara's apartment.

The door was open, and he could clearly see Nick on a step ladder hanging a banner. "Hey, man," he said. "I brought liquor. Where do you want it?"

"In the kitchen," Nick said. "But keep it away from Sara or she's likely to start this thing a little early." He grinned and Warrick chuckled.

At that very moment, Sara walked in from the kitchen and caught Warrick off guard. "OK," he said. "Look, I just dropped off Catherine who was dressed weird enough, but… didn't you say you don't _do_ bikinis?"

Sara, clad in a white bikini top and cutoffs and a flower lei around her neck, cocked an eyebrow at him. "Greg wanted an island themed party. I blew it, so I'm making it up to him."

"Yeah," said Nick with a lopsided grin. "That'll make it up to him alright." Sara knocked the ladder and Nick wobbled a moment before glaring down at her. "You did that on purpose."

"You'll never prove it," she cooed.

"Warrick!" Nick called. "Get my kit, I want to call her bluff."

"Even off hours, we have to say something about work," Warrick said, rolling his eyes.

"Make yourself useful," Sara said, throwing a lei over Warrick's head. "Go set up the tiki torches."

"But we're inside," Warrick pointed out.

"It's called atmosphere, man!" Nick said, putting the last piece of tape on the banner. "There! All done." He stepped down off the ladder and looked up at it with pride before his face fell. The others saw it too.

"That's, um, great Nick, but—"

"Is _that_ atmosphere?" Warrick asked casually. "I mean, it's certainly creative, having the whole thing upside down." He turned to Sara. "How does that relate to the island theme, exactly?"

Sara giggled and Nick glared at both of them before mounting the step ladder once again. Sara turned to Warrick. "You. Tiki torches. Go."

"Yes ma'am," Warrick said as Sara shoved a bunch of them into his arms. As he went off to do Sara's bidding, he glanced back at the two of them every now and then, bantering like brother and sister. She'd hit him on the leg and he'd throw a marker at her. Both of them were doing this for Greg, but both had different intentions in the long run. He was far too intuitive to misread Sara's subconscious motives, even if she wasn't so sure of them herself yet. Nick was doing it for Greg because he was Nick's adopted younger brother, but Sara was doing it for more than an apology. She wanted to impress him. But united in their quest to please their good friend, they realized their own good friendship with each other and it made Warrick smile.

They really were close, all of them. One big happy family.

His thoughts drifted to Catherine again, his concern building steadily. Even in the car, though she spoke coherently, she didn't seem all there. She didn't look like she was coming down with a fever, but that didn't mean anything. She could be writhing in her bed, going into convulsions as they were preparing for a party. He shuddered at the thought.

"Hey you guys, I'm gonna go check on Catherine," he called.

Sara looked at him as a Cheeto hit the side of her head. She turned to glare at Nick, who was now setting up the food table and acting innocent. She turned back to Warrick. "Catherine? Why? She needs rest, and Greg's not due to arrive for a good hour or so."

"Yeah, I know," Warrick said. "I'm worried about her is all."

A crooked smile weaseled its way onto Sara's features. "Aw, isn't that sweet? You're just mad that you're the only guy she didn't try and rape."

"Yeah, well—" Warrick did a double take. "Wait, what?" His eyes flew to Nick, who seemed to be frantically rearranging the pop bottles on the table, avoiding the conversation.

Sara glanced at Nick then back to Warrick. "She didn't tell you?"

"That she… what?" Warrick still couldn't comprehend.

Sara looked like she was fighting to restrain fits of giggles. "Never mind, Warrick, forget I said anything."

"No," Warrick insisted. "Now you have me confused, see."

"It was nothing," Sara assured him. "Catherine… I don't know, something she ate or something, anyway, she just kinda hit on Nick and Greg… and Grissom… and… well… It wasn't anything, _really_." Nick snorted and they both looked at him. "Was it, Nick? Or would you care to explain why you showed up to an island themed party wearing a turtleneck?"

Nick coughed and turned around to face Warrick for the first time in the conversation. "She's right, absolutely harmless flirting."

"Why _are_ you wearing a turtleneck, Nick?" Warrick asked.

There was an awkward pause when the buzzer went and Sara leant against the button, letting whoever was at the door in.

Nick scratched his neck. "Sara, I'm gonna go make myself a White Russian, you want something?"

"Daiquiri," Sara called as he made his way quickly to the kitchen. She grinned at Warrick. "Relax, Warrick. Don't be jealous. Greg was the one who got a real show."

Warrick looked furious. "Jealous, I'm not—Greg? Wait, I'm— _Greg_?!"

"That's what _I_ said!" Sara said, throwing her arms up as though she'd found the only person in the world who agreed with her.

"Hey."

Sara and Warrick looked at the door to see Sofia grinning at them as she held up a wheel. "Where should I put this?"

"Bedroom," Sara said. She gestured down the hall and Sofia nodded.

"What's that for, pin the wheel on the car?" Warrick asked.

Sara grinned at him wickedly. "You'll see."

Warrick's phone began to ring. He took out his phone and looked at it. Frowning, he answered. "Hey, Cath, what's up?"

"Warrick, when does our Lindsey get home by school? She should have been back by now."

His brow furrowed as he looked at his watch. "Uh, Cath, it's only two o'clock, she oughta be home at about three."

" Three o'clock. OK. Good." Catherine sounded like Warrick had placated some intense worry.

"Um… did you say _our_ Lindsey?"

"What?" she said, absently. "Oh. Yes."

"You did?" Warrick asked.

"Did I?"

"OK…" he said. "Well, listen, Greg's party starts in an hour, so I'm gonna come over and pick you up now, OK?"

"OK," said Catherine. "But I have to wait for Lindsey."

"Catherine," Warrick said. "Lindsey will be there when you get back—"

"You don't _understand_, Warrick," Catherine snapped. "I have—I have to do this. You're a man. You would never understand."

"Female troubles?" Warrick said. "Because remember that I'm married— to a lesbian no less, so…" Sara was looking at him funny and he rolled his eyes. "Do you want to talk to Sara, would that make you more comfortable?"

"Hell _no_ I won't talk to _her_," Catherine hissed in disgust.

"OK… No Sara. Right. Catherine, don't go anywhere, don't do anything, and for God's sake don't give anyone anymore hickeys, I'm on my way over." Hanging up, he noticed Sara giving him a wry look.

"A lesbian?"

"Shut up," Warrick said, putting his phone away as Sofia joined them again, sans the wheel. "Listen, Catherine doesn't sound like herself. I may be late. Tell Greg an extra 'surprise' from me. I'll catch you later."

He left and Nick came out of the kitchen holding two cocktail glasses. "You lovely ladies care for some margaritas?"

"I thought I said a daiquiri!" Sara protested, taking the proffered drink nonetheless.

Nick shrugged as he sipped his White Russian. "Warrick forgot the rum."

"You can't forget rum," Sofia said. "Rum is the most integral part of the daiquiri."

Sara growled in frustration. "I wish I still kept alcohol in my liquor cabinet."

"What's in it now?" Sofia asked.

"Exercise magazines," Sara said flatly, and they laughed.


	6. Bad Days and Apologies

_**Author's Note:**_ I've been traveling lately, so I've been downloading stories to my iPod and forgetting to review them when I get an internet connection again. Which is _very_ bad of me. Particularly stories of some loyal reviewers (I'll apologize more when I actually review your stories). But for those of you who review my story, and even those of you who don't, you're posetively swell. I will return the favor eventually. Also, I didn't update yesterday because I'm still fiddling with the end and don't want to make you wait too long for it when I get to it. Hm. It WILL end, though. I can't stand unfinished stories, which is why I tend to wait until I know I'm going to finish before I start posting. And I promised myself I'd finish this, so it will be done. But to be honest, _Collateral Damage_ has really been a lot more fun for me lately. Just playing with all the possibilities... I'm excited about it. But I haven't forgotten about this one, so don't you worry. :o)

* * *

Greg looked at his watch impatiently. Grissom had told him that he was free to go at three o'clock. Grissom had never given him a specific hour. Their shifts were loosely defined, depending more on the cases they were working on than the time itself. That's what frustrated Greg. Sofia and him had closed the Hawaiian Shirt John Doe case hours ago. They even identified him as one Adrian Stark. They had notified his family, put the perp behind bars, and sent the evidence to the LVPD where they would use it to build their case. 

So it annoyed him that, when he had informed Grissom _as a courtesy_ that he was about to punch out, Grissom had given him pointless paperwork to finish and told him to leave at three.

It was quarter 'til and the second hand couldn't move any slower unless it was going backwards.

Greg groaned as he sunk into the chair in the break room, trying to avoid Grissom and more paperwork for the next fifteen minutes.

As if God hadn't already punished him enough for some unknown bad karma, Grissom entered the break room and opened the fridge.

"Greg," he said. "I've been looking for you."

Greg let out a low and tired moan. "Aw, Grissom, _please_ I have fifteen minutes left until you said I could leave."

"I know," said Grissom, closing the fridge and opening a soda. "I just wanted to ask why you cancelled your party."

Greg sighed. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Grissom's pager went and he looked down. He grinned at some unknown inside joke. "You don't have to," he said. "You're off."

Greg sat up. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Grissom. "Everything's all done here. Just came in here to tell you."

"Thank _God_!" Greg said, jumping to his feet. "I gotta tell you, Grissom, there's nothing I'm looking forward to more than going home and crashing."

A smile tugged at Grissom's lips. "Yeah," he said. "Me too. Hey, I'll walk you out, you've been a really good sport."

"Damn straight I have," Greg muttered under his breath, but Grissom still caught it and smiled. They left the break room and headed down the hall.

"No," he said. "You're right, I've been really hard on you today."

"Yeah," said Greg, as if just catching on to something. "What's with that? Did I do something to piss you off?"

"Nah," Grissom said. "I just… never really liked you Greg."

Greg looked up at him skeptically. "You never liked me."

"Not a bit," Grissom said, eyes straight ahead as they approached the exit.

"Not even a _little_ bit," Greg said flatly.

"Why do you think I pick on you so much?"

"You're evil. Do you know that?"

Grissom laughed. "I take pride in it, actually."

"You like me," Greg said with a knowing grin. "Because I'm just awesome, and you know it."

Grissom glanced at him and favored him with a half smile, but didn't agree or disagree.

As they stepped outside, Greg headed to his car and stopped dead in his tracks. "Aw, _man_!" he exclaimed. "You have got to be _kidding_ me!"

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked.

Greg gestured hysterically at his car. "Someone stole my frickin' _wheel_! The hubcaps, the tire, aw— aw, _dammit_! This has got to be _the_ worst day _ever_."

Grissom sighed and shook his head. "It's a shame, Greg."

"Who steals a _wheel_?" Greg asked. All of a sudden, he seemed to decide something and he deliberately walked back toward the doors of the crime lab.

"Where are you going?" Grissom asked.

"To get my kit," Greg replied. "This parking lot has just become a crime scene."

"You're joking," Grissom said.

"Hell no I'm not," Greg said. "This is the last straw. No crook is gonna steal _my_ wheel. Not today."

Grissom caught Greg by the arm, his eyes staring up at the sky. "Greg, stop. Let me drive you home. We can pick up a new wheel on the way. Hubcaps, tire, and everything. OK?"

Greg sighed. "Fine," he said. He followed Grissom to his car and kicked Grissom's tire.

"Hey," Grissom snapped. "Just because someone stole your wheel doesn't mean you have to take it out on mine."

"Sorry," Greg muttered insincerely as he climbed into the passenger's eat.

Grissom shook his head as he climbed into the driver's seat and they headed off.

* * *

Warrick hit the horn as he came to yet another stop light. It felt as though the world was against him. It didn't take him nearly this long to get to Catherine's before. He was worried about her. She sounded very strange on the phone, and he didn't want to leave her alone for much longer. 

The light turned green and he hit the gas, accelerating down the street, hoping to hit the freeway soon so he wouldn't have to worry about these lights anymore. He could already see the next one coming up. It was turning yellow.

"No _way_!" Warrick muttered, trying to accelerate further. The light was just turning red when he passed through it. And then the sirens began.

This was the last thing Warrick needed. But he didn't want to be part of a high speed chase either, so he slowly pulled over to the side of the street. He banged his head on the wheel and left it there as the officer came up to his window and knocked on it. He rolled it down and looked up at him with tired eyes.

"Hey, officer," he said. "Listen, I know I ran a red light, but—"

"Do you know how fast you were driving, sir?" the officer interrupted.

Warrick blinked, then glanced at the speedometer, then back at the officer. "Um… I don't know, maybe sixty?"

The officer scoffed. "Even if that were true," he said. "The limit on this road is fifty-five."

"Like going five miles over—"

"You were going _fifteen_ miles over," the officer corrected. "And you're right, you did run that light."

"Look," said Warrick, reaching for his badge. "I'm a CSI, I gotta check on a crime scene."

The officer was already writing the ticket. "Dead bodies are gonna stay dead, sir, there's no need to risk an accident."

"I'm sorry," said Warrick. "Just… give me the ticket, and I'll go."

The officer seemed surprised at his passivity. "Sir, are you hiding any illegal substances in your car?"

"What?" Warrick exclaimed. "No! Look, breathalyze me, do whatever, OK, man, but I'm not hiding anything."

The cop's eyes narrowed. "Would you please step out of the car, sir?"

"I beg your pardon?" Warrick laughed, hoping he'd misheard.

"Step out of the car, please," the officer said, more sternly.

Warrick obeyed with a roll of his eyes. He couldn't believe it. "You have got to be kidding me," he muttered. Well. At least he'd told Nick that he was going to be late.

* * *

Grissom pulled up outside of Sara's apartment and Greg tensed and bristled like a threatened cat. 

"Why are we _here_?" he asked Grissom coolly.

Grissom was casual as he shrugged. "I just needed to drop a few things off that Sara needs," he replied simply. He got out of the car and looked at Greg through the open window. "You can stay here if you like."

Greg seemed to consider it for a moment, then decided as his face set in a resolute expression. "No. No, I want to come with you and talk to Sara, see if she's done being a bitch about everything."

Grissom was already taking a brown bag out of the trunk. "OK," he said, completely unaltered.

Greg hopped out of the passenger side door and leaned against it, waiting for Grissom to be done. His supervisor walked over to him with the brown bag in his arms. "What, Grissom, do you do her grocery shopping?"

"Birthday present," Grissom replied, and Greg's heart sank at the reminder. _Are you even _allowed_ to be angry with someone on their _birthday, Greg wondered. Yes, he resolved. Sara had been unfair to him, so he had decided to be unfair to her. Although he wondered how stout his determination would stand against those soft brown eyes.

Sara Sidle always had a way of looking at him that made everything negative dissolve away and drip into a stray bucket that would be dumped over his head again after she left. Greg knew that if he found himself lost for words in her presence, they would pounce on him like a tiger after she slammed the door in his face. Frustrated with this knowledge and determined to break the annoying habit, Greg followed Grissom to the door of the apartment complex.

"_Who is it?_" came the scratchy voice over the intercom. She sounded as though she had just woken up.

"Grissom."

"_Oh? What brings you here?_"

"I come bearing gifts," Grissom replied. "Happy birthday."

"_Ugh. Fine._" Sara sounded as though she wasn't in the mood for gifts, but she buzzed them in nonetheless. That really irritated Greg. Here Grissom was, being all nice and bringing her a gift for her birthday and she was being ungrateful. So typical. He was glad she didn't know he was coming up. He had the advantage of a surprise attack. He would ambush her at the door, and the first thing he would address was her ingratitude at the things others did for her. Grissom's present. Greg's party.

He ground his teeth to keep from telepathically destroying the elevator with his mind.

Greg briefly wondered if that was actually possible.

The elevator pinged and opened on Sara's floor and Greg marched out first, full of self-righteousness. Because he _was_ right. And he wasn't going to stop being angry until Sara admitted she was wrong.

Even if he had overreacted a little.

But that was beside the point.

Greg wondered about telepathy again.

The door opened a crack, the chain still in place, and Greg wondered why the precaution if she knew it was Grissom. He credited to further inconsiderateness.

"Grissom," she said, then her eyes widened. "Greg!"

"Yeah," Greg said, hitting the door with his hand to try to break the chain. No dice. Maybe if he used _telepathy_… "And this is kind of _rude_, chaining your door when your supervisor wants to give you a present."

Anger flared in Sara's eyes. "Well this isn't the safest building, Greg, and besides, I'm not _dressed_."

It was then that Greg noticed that what he could see of Sara's shoulder was bare. "Oh, and so when Grissom buzzes your intercom, you don't think to throw some _clothes _on?" He looked at Grissom. "Or is there something _else_ going on here that I don't _know_ about?"

Sara ignored Greg and addressed Grissom with a smile. "You brought me something?" She said the next words loudly and obnoxiously as she glared at Greg. "You're so _sweet_."

"Hey!" Greg said, pushing Grissom out of the way. "I was sweet too!"

"_You_ were about to have sex with _Catherine_ in the _locker_ room!"

"_I_ planned a surprise _birthday_ party," Greg snapped. "What nice thing have _you_ done lately?"

Again, Sara addressed Grissom with a warm smile. "Here, let me take that off your hands and you can come inside for a drink or something."

"Oh, and I suppose that invitation doesn't extend to me—"

"Greg!" Grissom interrupted finally. "Sara's a good hostess. She wouldn't leave a guest out in the hall."

"No matter _how_ obnoxious he was being," Sara said casually.

Greg ground his teeth as she closed the door and took off the chain lock. This was it. This was where he could pounce on her with all the words he always wanted to say when he was angry with her but could never find when he finally faced her. If he launched into the tirade right away, she wouldn't have time to melt his heart. He coiled his verbal muscles, ready to strike.

The door opened swiftly and Greg was ready, his mouth poised in his first verbal assault but he stopped dead in his tracks when there was the sound of screaming and noise and… tropical music?

Sara stood in the doorway beaming at him, her shoulders not entirely naked by wearing a white bikini top and a plastic flower lei. Greg's mouth broke its battle position as his jaw dropped.

"Surprise," Sara said, with a smug _I-told-you-so_ smile that drove Greg crazy.

Greg searched for words but could only make unintelligible sounds. Grissom moved into the room first and he turned on him. "You _knew_ about this?"

Grissom shrugged. "Of course, Greg," he said. He pulled out a bottle of rum from the paper bag and handed it to Sara. "For the birthday girl," he said.

"You're a _life_ saver," Sara grinned.

"Not too much, though," Grissom warned.

"Cross my heart," Sara promised. Grissom moved past her and joined the party.

Greg was still baffled, looking between Sara and Grissom, when he noticed the banner.

_I'm Sorry, Greg_

"Aw-aw- AW! That is _not_ fair."

"What's not fair?" Sara asked.

"You!" Greg exclaimed. "You-you just can't do this. I'm mad at you, and this is making me… _not_ mad at you."

"Good," said Sara. "That was its intention."

Greg folded his arms. "OK," he said. "Then say it."

"Say what?" Sara asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Say you're sorry," he replied.

Sara gestured at the banner. "Because the giant piece of paper doesn't say it loud enough."

"No, it doesn't," Greg said. "That banner could be from anyone, about anything. I need to hear it from _you_."

"You know," Sara said, "you owe _me_ an apology too."

"I don't see how that is," Greg said, blankly.

"Calling me rude and inconsiderate—I planned this whole thing in a matter of _hours_. Had to get the guest list from Nick, who only knew of half the people you invited, tell everyone that your party _wasn't_ cancelled, just moved to my place, buy the food, set up the island theme, hell, Greg, I'm wearing a _bikini_ for you! The least you could do is appreciate it."

Greg couldn't help but grin. She was doing that thing again, where she made all his anger disappear. He laughed and closed his eyes as he shook his head. "You're right," he said. "I haven't been the nicest person today either. I'm sorry."

Sara returned the smile. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "I overreacted."

"We both did," Greg acknowledged. "Can you tell me why?"

"Why what?" Sara asked.

"Why we overreacted," Greg replied. "I mean, it doesn't really make much sense, does it?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Sure it does," she said. "I get kind of… crazy sometimes."

"Crazy about me?" Greg's eyebrows raised hopefully and Sara laughed as she hit him on the arm.

"In your dreams, kiddo," she said.

"Nah," said Greg, shaking his head. "In my dreams, we'd be making out by now."

Sara's smile turned slightly bashful, and Greg noticed. She moved to leave. "I have to go—"

Greg caught her arm. "No, wait," he said. "Look at me." Reluctantly, she complied, her deep brown eyes mirroring his own, however hesitantly. A slow grin spread across his face. "This isn't _my_ dream," he whispered. "It's yours."

"Greg…"

"That's why you flipped out," Greg said, finally understanding. "That's why you got mad."

"Greg…"

"Is that why we've been fighting?" he asked rhetorically. "Because you won't admit it?"

"_Greg!_" She was more forceful now as she tore her arm away from him, looking annoyed. But Greg wasn't going to let her pull away this time. He slowly looked down at her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers, then looked up at her again. She was staring at their joined hands with complete impassivity. Slowly, she looked up to meet his gaze.

With his other hand on her shoulder, he gently pulled her close to him and their lips embraced for the first time outside of either of their dreams.

After a moment, there was clapping and cheering and Sara broke away from the kiss as she began to laugh in embarrassment. Greg leaned his forehead against hers and grinned.

"Well it's about damn time!" Nick exclaimed, patting Greg on the back.

Greg laughed and nodded as he and Sara broke apart, but their hands remained together. He looked around the room as everyone went back to enjoying themselves now that the Sara and Greg show was over. "Hey," he said. "Where's Warrick and Catherine?"

Nick frowned and looked at his watch. "Well, he said he'd be late…"

"Warrick went to pick Catherine up," Sara explained. A cold shiver went up and down her spine. Something felt wrong. "I… don't know when they'll…" All of a sudden, she turned around and grabbed a jacket.

"Sara!" Greg said. "Where are you going?"

Sara looked at him before walking out the door. "To find my sister," she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and left.

Greg turned to Nick. "I thought she didn't have any—"

"She doesn't," Nick interrupted, staring at the door.

* * *

Catherine held the kitchen knife in her hand and ran her finger over the blade as she stood by the window, waiting patiently. She looked like the perfect mother. She wore an apron over her t-shirt and jeans. Not a hair was out of place. Her makeup was superb. She was the world's best soccer mom. Not that Lindsey played soccer. Or that her child ever would. 

Her child… Catherine's thoughts came to her as though she was recalling two separate lives. Something was wrong here. Something was cold.

She pushed a stray hair back behind her ear. Everything had to be perfect for her little angel. She pressed her finger so hard against the blade that it punctured her skin and blood from her fingertip dripped down the sliver of silver and then onto the hardwood floor. The dripping sounded like raindrops and it soothed Catherine.

She wished it was raining. It would be easier to lose her in the mud that way. Not like the last time, in the dry soil. She just kept coming up again with every new rain which would wash away the top soil. Eventually she had learned, and she dug deep into the mud and planted flowers above it, a field of clover.

She always liked clover. It quite reminded her of home.

But Catherine didn't recall very many clovers in Montana, nor did she really consider it her home, not anymore.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her as a surge of regret washed over her and she began to cry for no real reason that she could determine. Everyone hated her. Everyone had called her a whore. She couldn't let them know, least of all her sister, how deeply right they were. She would never forgive herself. She would never live it down. And what would _he_ say? Oh God… he couldn't know. He would never know. Oh what kind of mess had she gotten herself into?

These thoughts were not her own, but they effected Catherine as though they were. These memories to her, of clovers and a sister and a lover, all of them felt so real to Catherine that it was hard to differentiate them from her own.

She watched as the school bus pulled up outside of the house and her baby girl jumped off of it, her back pack slung over one shoulder as she made her way to the door.

With a heavy heart, Catherine dried her eyes and hid the knife behind her back as she went to answer the door. 


	7. Skeletons In The Closet

_**Author's Note:**_ 1) I think I finally settled on an ending I like. 2) I have a friend who acts like Nick does in this chapter when he's drunk. 3) I love White Russians. 4) I know stupid cops like the one in this chapter. 5) Stop reading the author's note and read the chapter. 6) Review.

* * *

Sara was determined to get to Catherine's, but not so determined that she missed Warrick's car pulled over on the side of the road. Warrick was being pressed up against the car and hand cuffed. She pulled over behind them and stepped out of the car.

"Excuse me," she called over to the two of them. "What's the problem over here?"

"Ma'am," the officer answered. "I'm gonna have to ask you to just keep driving."

"I can't do that," Sara said. "You see, that's my colleague you have there. He's on the clock so I'm sure our supervisor would like to know why you're detaining him."

The officer looked at Warrick, then at Sara, and quickly uncuffed him. "Oh," he said. "He really is a CSI?" Sara showed her badge as proof. "But neither of you are dressed like you're on duty."

Sara pulled her jacket tighter around her, glad the only thing he could see of her costume was the cutoff shorts. "Yeah, well, it's a company party."

"_He_ said it was a crime scene," the officer said.

"Trust me," Sara answered. "If you don't let him go, it will be."

Warrick tore away from him as soon as the cuffs were off his wrist. He rubbed them, annoyed. "Damn, man, I told you to just give me a ticket."

"Thought the car was stolen," said the officer. "And he might have been a dealer. I found rum in his trunk."

"You found rum in his trunk and you arrested him?" Sara was outraged. "What are you, crazy? Get out of here."

"Yes, ma'am," said the officer and he took off in the car.

Warrick looked over at her and couldn't help but shake his head in confused laughter. "I have no idea what that was."

"I do," Sara said, no laughter in her tone at all. "He was an asshole."

"We did lie about being on the clock, though," Warrick pointed out with a small smile.

Sara shrugged. "A minor little fib. Slap on the wrist."

"What are you doing here?" Warrick asked. "What about Greg's party?"

"I had a bad feeling about Catherine," Sara replied.

"Yeah," said Warrick. "Something's not right."

"Meet you there?" Sara said.

"Definitely."

And they each jumped into their cars.

* * *

Lindsey opened the door and then looked up at her mother who was waiting in the hall for her.

"Oh. Um. Hi, mom. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Catherine smiled sweetly at her daughter. "Oh, sweetheart," she said. "I wouldn't miss you coming home for the world."

"But… you generally do," Lindsey said.

"I know, baby," Catherine said. "And I'm sorry for the way I treat you. You don't deserve me as a mother."

Lindsey was confused. "Don't talk like that, Mom," she said. "You're a great mother." Catherine reached out to her daughter and cupped her cheek in her hand. Lindsey was unnerved by the tear which streamed down her mother's cheek. "Mom? What's going on? Are you OK?"

Catherine's smile held something beautifully tragic as she beheld her daughter. "Oh honey," she said. "Trust me when I tell you this is the smartest thing I've done all my life. You won't tell anyone, will you? You won't tell anyone what Mama's gonna do?"

"Mom…" said Lindsey, slowly. "You're scaring me. Where's Grandma?"

"She's not here," Catherine whispered. "We're all alone. Just you and me."

"Why are you crying?" Lindsey asked nervously.

Catherine pulled her daughter into a warm embrace, the blade of the knife resting on the young girl's back. "Lissy, no matter what, you have to promise me that you'll remember that Mommy always loved you."

"I know that, Mom… Did you say Lissy? You've never called me that before." It occurred to Lindsey that her mother had said 'loved' in the past tense. She broke away from her mother's arms and saw the knife in her hands. Her terror mounted. "OK, Mom, what's wrong with you? What's that for?"

"This?" Catherine inquired innocently, gesturing at the knife. "It's my salvation, baby."

"Your salvation?" Lindsey's heart was racing as she backed up against the door. "What's that mean, Mom? Mommy?"

Catherine held a finger to her lips. "Sh… Baby, it's all OK, don't cry. No one will ever know. Not your father, not Lizbeth…"

"Liz who? What— Mom!" Lindsey screamed the name now, hoping her volume would get through to her mother when her words didn't. "Mom, what are you _doing_! Stop it, I'm your daughter!"

"I know, baby," said Catherine, sounding truly sorry as she raised the knife. "That's exactly why I have to do this."

Lindsey made a mad dash for the stairs and scrambled up them. Catherine followed her calmly.

"Last time we were here, you couldn't run. Do you remember that?" Catherine called. She reached the upstairs landing and looked around. "Come out, sweetheart. Mommy promises it won't last long. It's for the best, I promise."

Her daughter was hiding from her, but Catherine could wait. So long as Daniel didn't find her first.

* * *

Lindsey hid among the dresses in her grandmother's closet, scared out of her mind and twice as baffled. She hugged her knees as she muttered a silent prayer that her mother wouldn't find her there. The tears leaked freely from her eyes and she made no move to stop them. She read somewhere that crying made one feel better. She wondered if her mother cried, then maybe she would feel better too.

Slowly and with trembling hands, the young girl pulled out her cell phone. Her mother had always told her that she should never hesitate to call her if she was in trouble. But who would she call now?

Her body shaking all over and her breathing coming in short, erratic bursts, she pecked out the three digit number with a clammy forefinger.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I— I'm at my house. My mom— My mom is trying to kill me." Even as she said the words, they tasted foreign on her tongue, like they were not her own.

"OK, sweetheart, calm down." The 911 operator was soothing and sweet, and probably a mother herself, Lindsey imagined. "Where do you live."

Quickly, Lindsey recited her address. When she was four years old, her mother made damn sure that she knew it by heart. She'd learnt her phone number before she even spoke her first word.

"OK, we're sending someone over right now," said the operator. "Where are you? Where is your mother? Do you live with your father?"

So many questions and none of them Lindsey felt was important. There was only one she wanted answered and that was _why_. "Um… I'm hiding in the upstairs closet, in my grandma's room… My mom, she's outside, she's— she's not herself. Please. She has a knife. Hurry."

"Sweetheart, listen to me," the operator said sternly. "You have to get out of the house."

"I— I can't," Lindsey sobbed, despair overcoming her. "I'm upstairs… I should have… But she was standing by the front door, I had nowhere else to go…"

"I know it's hard," the operator said. "Stay with me on the line and find a window."

"A window?" Lindsey whispered, hope rising up in her.

"Yes," said the operator. "How old are you, sweetheart?"

"Fourteen," Lindsey replied.

"Fourteen…" The operator sounded mildly surprised. "Alright, what's your name?"

"Lindsey. Willows."

"OK Lindsey, do you ever sneak out of the house?"

Lindsey thought about the question. Her mother was never home, and her grandmother was always asleep. She never needed so. "N-no."

"Well you're a good girl," the operator said. "But I have to admit that makes this harder. Are you looking for a window?"

Lindsey shook her head as she bit her lip, then remembered she couldn't be seen by the nice woman. "No, I— I can't leave the closet."

"Lindsey, you have to get out of the closet."

"Is there police on the way?" Lindsey asked, breathless.

"Yes," the operator replied. "But until they get there—"

"Then I'll be fine," Lindsey interrupted resolutely. "My mother… she wouldn't really hurt me."

"Lindsey? Are you OK?"

"I'll be fine," Lindsey repeated, as much for herself as the operator. "Thank you."

And with that she hung up.

She rocked back and forth, her eyes wet. Her breathing had calmed down, and she took deep breaths. Lindsey had seen a lot in her fourteen years, and she had learned to deal with it accordingly. She even admired her stalwart mother, who in spite of everything never wavered, not even a little bit. She regretted her mother's absence, sure, but over all Catherine Willows was a good mother to her, and she didn't forget that for a moment. She had tried to explain that to her. She knew how hard Catherine worked to be with her. But Catherine never seemed to understand. Lindsey was afraid that she had finally lost it. Maybe seeing death every day had made her tired of the living. Maybe Catherine preferred her daughter's company if Lindsey wasn't breathing.

The thought made Lindsey choke on a sob. In the few times she saw her mother a week, _if_ she even saw her weekly, Catherine was always stressed, she was always hurried, she was always in a mad rush to be somewhere. When she wasn't sleeping, she was arguing with Lindsey's grandmother, and when she wasn't doing that, she was hastily trying to sort through and pay bills. On occasion, she'd pour over a particularly irksome case for hours, photos of corpses and crime scenes sprawled out right there on the kitchen table. Catherine Willows seemed to have a love affair with death, and now it seemed she had really taken her work home with her.

Lindsey wondered if her mother would actually kill her, like she seemed intent on doing. Of course, Catherine hadn't come out and _said_ she was going to _kill_ her, but the implication had definitely been in her words, and the knife only further emphasized them. And what about that name she had said… Lizbeth… It was completely alien to Lindsey, who had never known anyone by that name in her life. She knew plenty of Elizabeths, but none of them went by that nickname. And all of them were friends of hers which her mother had never met. Not that her mother knew _any_ of Lindsey's friends at all.

Lindsey heard footsteps outside and the soft coo of a maternal voice trying to calm a crying child.

"Come on, Lissy, it will all be alright if you just come out."

But her name wasn't Lissy either. At first, Lindsey thought it was an attempted nickname— a gross bastardization of her own name. But it didn't fit. Catherine had never called her that before and it definitely sounded wrong in her ears.

Deep inside of her, a voice seemed to speak to her, telling her to not be afraid. She laughed at the thought, thinking that through her panic she was beginning to hallucinate. But the voice soothed her, the voice told her that she was in good hands, and that mothers did cruel things to their daughters all of the time. The voice was there to take her by the hand and guide her, to protect her, and to lead her through any trial she was about to endure.

Lindsey vaguely wondered if she would go to heaven.

The voice said, yes, she would.

Lindsey wondered if she would survive.

The voice said, no, she wouldn't.

Lindsey shivered.

Lindsey listened.

And when the door to the closet opened, Lindsey held her breath.

And when a cold and twisted smirk contorted Catherine's features, Lindsey screamed.

* * *

Despite what he had expected, Grissom was actually enjoying himself at the party. While he was doing his usual thing of hanging out in the corner and nodding politely to people he recognized, he had spotted a scrabble game hiding under the television cabinet and pulled it out. Since, he had challenged Nick to a game who gave him a skeptical look at first, but upon Grissom's goading, and possibly because he was a little drunk, Nick finally agreed, and they even had a twenty dollar bet on the game.

Being drunk may have given Nick the bravado to accept Grissom's challenge, but it definitely didn't give him an edge in remembering how to spell words. And Grissom was winning, until Nick spelt the word "finity" and landed on a double word score, Grissom accused him of making up the word.

"Not true," Nick said, his words only minimally slurred, although Grissom wondered if it could be attributed to his southern drawl. "Finity is totally a word. It's the opposite of _in_finity. The noun of finite."

"Nick," Grissom said slowly. "Finite_ has_ no noun."

"Does so," Nick insisted, folding his arms.

"Does anyone know if Sara has a dictionary?" Grissom called out, but no one heard him through all the chatter. He saw Greg, who was pacing up and down by the door, and beckoned him over.

The young CSI looked troubled as he waved Grissom off and Grissom rose to his feet. "Have another White Russian, Nick," he said absently before walking over to Greg. "What's the matter?"

Greg looked up at him, his whole body tense and smiled. "Oh, it's nothing. Just— Sara."

"Sara," Grissom repeated. "Why? Where'd she go?"

"I don't know," Greg replied with a shrug. "She won't answer her phone."

Grissom tensed all of a sudden. He recalled that Warrick wasn't at the party either and wondered at his absence. "When did you last see her?"

"She left about half an hour ago but wouldn't say where she was going," Greg answered.

"Said she was going to find her sister." Greg and Grissom both jumped at Nick, who now seemed completely sober. "What's going on?"

"Sara doesn't have a sister," Grissom said in bafflement.

"I know," said Greg. "That's when I began to worry."

"Is she not back yet?" Nick asked. "This is _her_ apartment. She wouldn't leave a bunch of people here alone for very long, would she?"

"No," Grissom's voice was flat. "And where's Warrick?"

"I thought maybe he got held up at Catherine's," Nick replied. "Maybe not."

"Has anyone called either of them?" Grissom asked.

"I didn't know they were supposed to be here," Greg replied.

All of a sudden, Brass made his way through the room, looking pale. He took Grissom by the shoulder, who realized something wasn't right immediately.

"Jim," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Dispatch got a 911 call from Catherine's home," Brass replied.

Whatever jovial mood had remained among the three CSIs immediately dissipated at these words.

"What?" Nick's voice was harsh and strained.

"Is Catherine—"

But Brass interrupted Grissom shaking his head. "No," he said. "It's not Catherine. It's Lindsey. She said her mother is trying to kill her."

The silence that surrounded them made them deaf to any noise outside of their own thoughts. All of a sudden, Greg broke it by laughing and they stared at him. He looked at them all as if the conclusion were obvious.

"It's a prank call," he said, as though it was the most logical explanation. "Lindsey's obviously acting out. Looking for attention or something— didn't Catherine say she's been going through that teenage rebellion thing?"

Brass shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said. "She sounded sincere enough to convince a 911 operator."

"Lindsey knows how serious that number is," Grissom said. "Even if she is rebelling, she wouldn't do something _that_ stupid. Besides, didn't Warrick drop Catherine off at home…?"

Nick was already heading for the door. Grissom called after him. "Nick! Where do you think you're going?"

"To Catherine's," he replied. "Where else? That's where Warrick went, and I'll bet you fifty bucks that's where Sara went too, and now this 911 call? Something's going down. I believe we were _all_ seduced by Catherine earlier this morning, weren't we?"

Slowly, Grissom and Greg nodded. Meanwhile, Brass frowned, looking from one to the other in bafflement.

"Uh… I wasn't."

"Your loss," Greg muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"That's what I'm saying," Nick explained. "Catherine was off earlier, she threw up in the locker room, Sara played it off like it was nothing, and Warrick was freaking out earlier worried about her. That pretty much runs the gamut of emotions, wouldn't you say? And then they both run off? I'm telling you, there's only one place they could all be."

"Catherine's," Grissom nodded. "Alright," he said, striding towards the door. "But I'm driving. You're drunk."

He walked right past Nick, who looked absolutely insulted. "I am _not_ drunk!"

But as Greg walked by and smelled his breath, he shook his head and laughed. "Dude, you're totally drunk."

Nick looked after him, offense scribbled across his features. "Well I had a few drinks, so wha—"

As Brass walked by he interrupted. "I don't even need to breathalyze you to tell that you're over the limit."

Glaring at all three of them, Nick closed the door behind him, only to have it pulled open again. He spun around and nearly fell over.

"Hey guys," Sofia said, looking curious. "You were leaving and—oh my _God,_ Nick, have some _gum_ or something!" Sofia dug in her purse as Nick rolled his eyes and walked away. She pulled out the gum and waved it at them. "Where are you going so fast?"

"It's Catherine," Brass explained. "Something's not right."

Sofia's brow wrinkled in concern. "What's not right?"

"Stay here," Grissom suggested. "Hold down the fort."

Sofia looked skeptically back at the party. "Right… Grissom, this isn't my house. Where's Sara?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Grissom replied. "Please. Make sure nobody breaks anything. Keep a particular eye on David Phillips. I saw him eying a lamp earlier."

Though reluctant, Sofia nodded and closed the door.

"We can take my car," Greg said. "Oh, wait, I forgot, someone stole my wheel."

"Actually that was Sofia," Brass said as the elevator arrived. "Your wheel is in Sara's bedroom."

Greg stared at him agape as they all filed into the elevator. "_That_ was part of Sara's plot?!"

"Of course it was, Greg," Grissom replied. "You think I would have offered you a ride if it wasn't?"

"I thought you were being a good person," Greg pouted.

"Please," Nick scoffed. "I know what it's like driving with you. You can never settle on a radio station and when you do, it's loud and obnoxious. Very few people can stand being in the same car with you for longer than ten minutes."

"_You_ do," Greg snapped.

"I just happen to be one of them," Nick replied, sounding for all intents and purposes as a martyr. Rightfully, Greg hit him.

As the elevator opened up onto the main lobby, the four men exited and made their way to their three cars, Greg veering towards Grissom's who turned him away. "Oh no," Grissom said. "You're going with Nick."

Greg's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"He told you, he's the only one who can stand you," Grissom replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, you need to drive for him."

Nick dangled his keys in front of Greg, who took them angrily. "Fine," he muttered.

Nick put a hand over his heart dramatically as he walked backwards towards the car, looking at Grissom. "'Tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done."

Greg glared at him. "But I get to choose the music."

"If you can decide on something for longer than thirty seconds," Nick muttered.

"You know," said Greg, climbing into the driver's seat. "We _could_ have all fit in one car _and_ we could save the environment."

"And used the car pool lane," Nick added as a joke.

"Why are we doing this?" Greg asked.

"In case they're not at Catherine's," Nick explained. "And we need to split up."

Greg sighed and nodded as he switched gears from park to drive. "Alright," he agreed. "Well then let's go pollute the ozone."

"And find Catherine, Warrick and Sara."

Greg glanced at him as they drove down the road. "You're surprisingly focused for a drunk."

Nick grinned dopily. "Thank you!" 


	8. Walking the Plank

**_Author's Note:_** This chapter and the following chapter were written and re-written about five times because I was so dissatisfied with it (mainly with the dialogue, also I wasn't so sure how dramatic/tragic I wanted to be here). Eventually, I came up with this. It's satisfactory enough to post. I think it's incredible how things can go from being incredibly light-hearted to incredibly tragic all in a matter of seconds. Consider this chapter an exploration of this theory... Nah, I'm not that smart, you can just consider it me being very, very cruel to all of you. But don't stop reading, there's a conveniently obvious twist ending (I love those!!!) Thanks for reviewing, folks, y'all are pretty much the best friends I have... Yes, I'm kidding, I'm not that pathetic. But you're still awesome anyways. You're the best anonymous friends ever! ;o)

* * *

Warrick and Sara arrived at the Willows' residence at the same time, both barely bothering to park their cars properly as they jumped out and headed toward the door. Before entering the house, both of them were completely coherent and competent agents of law enforcement. They could deal with almost any crisis, if there was even a crisis at all. All either of them had to go on was the eerie sensation that they were meant to be there, at that house, at this time, for some cosmically critical moment. 

But the minute they entered the house, all feelings of concern and fear abandoned them and everything they were became nothing as they were smacked in the face with something cold and fierce and swallowed it whole. It stretched out inside them like a hand feeling out a new glove. Neither of them had ever given themselves up so completely to anything in their lives, not to a person or a thing in the world. No drug or disease could ever take away the will, and yet theirs was stripped from them as though it were the clothes off their back. They were naked and they were dead, something else entirely alive inside of them, driving them, willing them, filling them with a completely new and different purpose, alien emotions gushing from their strained and heavy hearts like compressed ketchup packages.

They stared at each other a moment, each wondering what the other was doing in this house

One was meant to be there, the other had never been there before.

"What are you doing here?" Warrick asked as he looked at Sara. "Where's Annabelle?"

Sara's mouth opened and closed. "Daniel," she whispered. "Daniel, please, you have to understand, Annabelle is unwell, she thinks—"

There was a scream from upstairs and their conversation was cut short and all four entities, the two CSIs and the wills inside of them, found themselves racing for the upstairs landing and the source of the scream.

Warrick kicked open the door in time to see the knife come down on little Lindsey and he screamed loudly at her to stop. "Annabelle!"

But it was too late. The babe had been marred by the unkind will of her mother and she cried out in agony, clutching at her chest, her hands painted maroon with her own blood.

At that moment, the mother turned, fear evident in her eyes as she looked at the two intruders. "Daniel…" she whispered. "Lizbeth!"

"No…" Sara whispered as she leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, her eyes not leaving Lindsey for a moment. "Annabelle, what have you _done_?"

"That's our child, isn't it?" Warrick asked her. "You _murdered_ our child. How could you _do _that! How could you kill our _baby_?"

"I didn't know what to do," Catherine whispered. "But we can burry her in the garden, where the wild flowers grow. She'll be happy there."

Sara was gritting her teeth as tears streaked down her cheeks. "Your child… oh Annabelle, Daniel… how could you do this to me?"

"To _you_?" Warrick snapped at Sara. "You're about as loving as a _prune_, Lizzy-Beth. You never let me _touch_ you!"

"We aren't yet _married_!" Sara replied, sounding aghast. "I thought you loved me!"

Catherine strode towards the two of them, the knife dripping blood onto the floor, her own daughter forgotten as she gasped in pain. "Lizbeth… I tried to tell you. I didn't want to. I didn't. He came into my room…"

"Stop it," Sara sobbed through gritted teeth.

"He told me you wanted it this way, that you wanted him to be with me…"

"Lies!" Warrick screamed. "You seduced me, you conniving witch!"

Sara turned to Warrick in horror. "Don't call my sister a liar."

Warrick looked from Sara to Catherine before he drew his gun and aimed it straight at Catherine. "How could you… how could you _kill_ our _child_?"

"Put the gun down, Daniel." Sara's voice was low and soft.

"Wait…" Lindsey gasped, crawling out of the closet as she coughed up blood. "You have to stop this. You have to forgive each other."

"_No_!" Warrick cried out. "I can _never_ forgive you for what you have done. She was _our_ child. We were going to name her Felicity... Lissy... Lissy was _our_ child!"

"You didn't _want_ her!" Catherine yelled. "You found out she was to be born and you could care less about her, and about me. It was _I_ who chose the name and when I told you, you just told me to do whatever I wanted with her. So I am. You just didn't want your _fiancé_ to find out! You are a monster and _that_ is why you are here."

"You wicked harlot!"

"No!" Sara shrieked, jumping to her feet.

The gun went off and every single window in the house shattered. Sara stared down at her stomach and gasped before falling in a heap on the floor.

The gun clattered to the floor and Warrick just stared. Catherine was in tears as she cradled Sara's head in her lap, stroking her hair as her breathing became shallow. "You _monster_…" she whispered. "She wasn't supposed to be here… she was never here before… that bullet was meant for _me_…"

"I know…" whispered Sara with a faraway smile. "But I had to end this circle…"

Catherine was crying uncontrollably as she glared at Warrick. "She was an _angel_ here to save us and you _slaughtered _her…"

Warrick's breathing was slow and steady as his hands flew to his mouth. "Sweet Lord…" he muttered. "What have I done…" He began to turn the gun on himself.

"Stop…" The protest was barely above a whimper but it rang out in all of their ears. Lindsey's back was rising up and down with each shuttering breath as she looked at them with pleading eyes. "Your child never before had a voice and she never will again. Lizbeth was sent back for a reason this time. Even in death, you never learn. Put the gun _down_."

Warrick's lower lip trembled as he watched the three women, two bleeding, and one covered in everyone else's blood. "What do I do? I have never been here before…"

"Put down the gun." Lindsey's voice was filled with pain. "Forgive each other. Then we can all be at _peace_…"

Warrick and Catherine looked at each other and their eyes met. "Annabelle… I loved you from the moment I saw you. But you were so incredible, I never thought you would care for me… So I proposed to your sister, and when you confided in me that you loved me as deeply as I loved you…" Warrick approached them and kneeled down next to the two of them. "Oh, sweet Lizbeth…" he whispered. "I never meant to bring you so much heartache…"

"I have hated you both for too long," Sara breathed. "I have watched you suffer and I have torn myself apart with my own hate. That was my hell. To watch and watch until my hate dissolved into pity and until my pity dissolved into guilt." She flinched at the pain. In the background, they could hear sirens.

"Quickly!" Lindsey cried. "There's not much time."

Sara took Catherine's hand in her trembling grip, and took Warrick's as well, putting them together. "So you can be together in death as you never were in life."

Catherine and Warrick looked up and smiled at each other. And over Sara and with her consent, they kissed.

It was as though a fist that had clenched on their hearts relented as blood flushed to every single part of their very cold bodies.

Sara looked down and let out a breathless scream.

Lindsey's eyes rolled into her head as she passed out.

"Oh no…" Warrick whispered, stroking Sara's hair fervently. "Catherine, get her on the bed!"

But Catherine was staring at her daughter in horror. Her eyes darted between her friend in her arms and her daughter on the ground. "Warrick…"

"Catherine!" Warrick hissed, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "They're both going to die if you don't focus. Move Sara to the bed, I'll take care of Lindsey—"

"Oh my God…"

Both Catherine and Warrick stopped. Catherine was looking over his shoulder at the door. Slowly, Warrick turned around as a knot caught in his throat.

Greg stood looking ashen in the doorway, his jaw dropped to his chest. Soon, he was joined by Grissom, who pushed past him into the room and immediately kneeled down next to Lindsey. "What happened here?" he demanded.

But before Catherine could reply, the paramedics swarmed in, pushing Warrick and Grissom back. They pulled Sara away from Catherine, who didn't want to let her go. She scrambled up against the wall, getting bloody handprints everywhere, looking frantically from her daughter to her friend. Everything was spinning. The paramedics were trying to stabilize Lindsey and Sara before moving them. Catherine looked up and saw Warrick talking to Grissom with sad eyes. Grissom's face was solemn as he watched the paramedics. There was a loud ringing in Catherine's ears and she couldn't figure out if it was the sirens, or the noise in the room, or something else entirely.

They moved Sara first, onto a stretcher, which they led past Greg in the doorway. Catherine was surprised to see tears running down Greg's face as he reached out a hand to Sara, who grasped his with bloody fingers before it fell limp and dropped off the stretcher. Greg covered his mouth with his now bloody hand as he leaned against the wall. Nick appeared next to him as he pulled the younger CSI into a brotherly embrace.

Slowly, Grissom approached Catherine and kneeled down next to her. "Catherine? Can you hear me?" Eyes wide, Catherine turned to Grissom and nodded slowly. Grissom nodded. "Warrick said that he and Sara got here in time to see you stab Lindsey. He then said he shot Sara. But that's all he said."

Catherine continued to nod. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, that's right."

"But what _happened_?" Grissom asked. "I wasn't kidding when I said that's all he told me. I know _nothing_ else. Like _why_ did you stab Lindsey? Why did he shoot— shoot _Sara_?"

Catherine stopped nodding and slowly shook her head. "He was aiming for me…"

"_What_?!" Grissom was incredulous.

Catherine was still in a daze. "She said it never happened…"

"Who said that what never happened?" Grissom asked. "Catherine, you're not making sense."

Catherine swallowed. "Um… Sara. In the locker room, she said that it never happened… But it did happen, and we just didn't want to talk about it because we didn't understand… and then… Gil… And then it hurt my Lindsey…" Tears glistened in her eyes anew as she thought of her daughter, who she looked to as Lindsey was loaded on a stretcher too. "Oh God… Gil, will she be OK?"

Grissom looked at Lindsey, then at Catherine. "I can't say, Catherine, I'm not a doctor. But what happened in the locker room?"

Catherine looked up at Grissom, absolutely petrified. "I… I think we were… _possessed_, Grissom."

Grissom drew back from her. He was obviously not expecting that answer. "You were _what_?"

"I know how it sounds," Catherine replied. "But it's the only way to explain it. I had all these thoughts and memories that weren't mine. I had a name… _we _had names… that didn't belong to us. I was… Annabelle… Warrick, I called him Daniel and Sara…"

"Let me guess," Grissom said blankly. "Lizbeth."

"How did you…"

"They were the names Allan Walter was blabbering about before he shot himself," Grissom explained. "Sara could tell you that."

But Catherine was shaking her head. "No, Grissom, this isn't a joke or a trick… I would _never_ hurt Lindsey. But suddenly, it was like… It was like it was the best thing for her. Like if she lived any longer, she would suffer against something horrible… I thought of her as a baby, not a teenage girl."

"So you're telling me," Grissom said slowly, "that you, Sara, _and_ Warrick were… possessed?"

"I know how it sounds, but it's the only thing I can say," Catherine said. "Warrick will tell you. Sara will tell you. I bet even Lindsey would tell you, when she… oh God, Lindsey…" She started crying full force now and Grissom couldn't help but pull her into his warm embrace as he tried to calm down. She knew he needed answers—so did she. But she had nothing to offer him. She had nothing to offer anyone. If Lindsey died because of her…

As the paramedics took Lindsey out of the room, Nick and Greg stepped in. Warrick lingered in the shadows by the wall.

Greg's arms were folded and his eyes were frigid as he stared at Catherine and Grissom. Catherine pulled away from her friend and returned his hard gaze with her own desperate one. His mouth was smeared with blood, as was his right hand. Catherine somehow knew instinctively that he loved Sara very much.

But it was Nick who spoke first. "Grissom, what… what _happened_ here?" His tone was of absolute disbelief. Surely, he must have thought that someone _else_ had been here, someone _else_ had stabbed Lindsey and shot Sara, and he wanted to know where that person went so he could hunt him down and kill him with his own bare hands.

But Grissom looked up at Nick with his famous calm demeanor. "I'm not exactly sure, Nick."

"Did you shoot her?" Greg said, his voice colder than Catherine had ever heard it before. "Did you shoot Sara?"

Catherine's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. "I… I didn't…" But she faltered under his stare. She never knew Greg Sanders, happy-go-lucky goofball _Greg Sanders_ could ever intimidate her like this.

"I did."

The voice was dark and heavy as it came from behind Greg and Nick, who both turned around as if just noticing Warrick was there. He stepped out of the dark, his blue eyes like an expanse of arctic desert. Barren and cold. "I shot Sara. I think…" He faltered too, the frozen wastelands in his eyes hiding from view behind his lids as he tried to bite back tears. But when he opened again, they were as dry as any desert ever was. "I think I was aiming for Catherine. The bullet was meant for her."

Within seconds he was against the wall with Greg's forearm pressed against his throat. "_Why did you do it_?" he hissed.

"Greg!" Grissom screamed. "Let him _go_!"

The tears were back again as they carved rivers in his cheeks. "You son of a bitch…" he muttered, barely intelligible. "Why did you _shoot_ her?"

Warrick calmly put his hands on Greg's arm and lowered it with ease. Greg was sobbing too hard to stop him. "I… I can't explain, it Greg, I don't…" But it was obvious Greg wasn't listening anymore.

At that moment, Brass ran in, looking flustered as he took in the scene. Catherine was covered in blood, and Grissom's shirt was stained with it as well from where she had held him. Warrick had blood on his hands and shirt, and even Greg had some on him. If Brass hadn't known better, he would have said they all looked guilty. Nick was the only bloodless one in the room.

"Nick," he said. "Please go with Sara in the ambulance. She's—" he swallowed. "She's scared. She wants someone with her."

Nick nodded but Greg stepped forward, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I want to go."

Brass shook his head. "No, I want you here." He looked at Nick and nodded. "Go."

Nick jogged out the door and down the stairs. Greg snarled at Brass like an angry dog. "How _dare_ you."

"How dare _I_?" Brass said. "Greg, you _all_ have blood on you. This is a _crime _scene. I know you got here the same time I did, but I'm gonna need to hear what you saw while I was downstairs convincing the cops not to rush in and arrest Catherine and Warrick where they stand. Do you understand?"

Somewhere deep in Greg's mind, his professional training shone through and he nodded slowly. But it was obvious he was less than happy about it.

"Good," Brass said. He looked at everyone in turn. "Now would someone _please_ tell me what the _hell_ went down in here?"

Greg shot daggers at Warrick while Grissom turned concernedly to Catherine. Both Catherine and Warrick looked at each other.

"He called me Annabelle," Catherine muttered.

"I'm sorry?" Brass's brow furrowed in confusion.

"She called me Daniel," Warrick added, his voice a little louder than hers. "We both called Sara Lizbeth… and Lindsey… her name was… _Lissy_."

Greg blanched. "She took out her penknife and robbed the baby of its life." Everyone turned to him now, hoping he could make sense out of the chaos, even though he seemed to be spewing drivel too. He looked at all of them as if he just realized he'd spoken out loud. "No, it's a… a nursery rhyme."

"Morbid nursery rhyme," Brass commented.

"What nursery rhyme _isn't_ morbid?" Grissom pointed out.

Greg shook his head to clear it. "It's based on the legend of Crazy Anna Elizabeth. You never heard it? The woman who murdered her own child to hide the shame of sex out of wedlock. She killed it and buried it on the edge of a forest but her lover caught her and murdered her for her crime..." He began to recite the rhyme, or what he remembered of it from his childhood.

"_She kneeled down below a thorn  
And there she laid her babe newborn.  
She took out her penknife  
And robbed the baby of its life.  
She dug a grave in the cold moonlight  
And there she tried to bury her plight.  
As she was going to the church  
She saw a child on the porch.  
Said she to the child, 'If you were mine,  
I'd dress you in silks so fine.'  
Said the child to the mother, 'When I was thine  
You didn't prove to me so kind  
Oh cursed mother, hell is deep  
And into the fire you will leap'  
Anna Liz, Anna Liz, what a cold cruel thing you did.  
Anna Liz, Anna Liz, you're resting now but your soul never is._"

When he finished, Catherine's eyes were wide as she stared at him, flabbergasted. Greg became very self conscious and began to fiddle with his clothes.

"Or, at least, I think that's how it goes," he said. "It's been awhile since I've heard the girls jumping rope, you know. It was kinda like the Bloody Mary story. Mothers warned their kids if they didn't behave, Anna Elizabeth would come and kill them in their sleep. My Mom twisted it into some sort of commentary on abortion, but… Why are you looking at me like that?"

"That's it…" Catherine muttered, shaking her head. "No, that's really it!" She looked at Warrick, who looked equally surprised. "Do you feel it? Do you feel it too?"

"Yes," Warrick nodded. "But the rhyme is wrong. Her name was Annabelle McCormick. Her sister was Elizabeth."

"Well there wasn't exactly room for a sister in the legend…" Greg muttered.

Warrick turned to Catherine. "Where you dug and found those bones…"

Catherine paled. "Oh no… there are more."

"More what?" Grissom asked.

"Bodies," Catherine replied. "Daniel killed his wife then killed himself. Lizbeth… she was Daniel's fiancé and she found them both. She buried them with care side by side in the forest before flinging herself from the roof. Grissom, we have to find those bodies—"

"Hold it!" Brass interrupted. "Catherine, Warrick— I know you are two logical and rational individuals so think about what you're _saying_ a moment. You're taking an old legend and twisting it into a lunatic excuse for what's happened here. What _court_ is going to by _possession_ as a reasonable defense?"

Catherine felt as though she had been slapped in the face. He was right, of course, she knew that, but she didn't know what else to say.

Everyone was silent, and so Brass continued, his tone more subdued. "Catherine, I'm sorry, but if Lindsey dies, her blood is literally on your hands and no jury will be sympathetic to that." He looked at Warrick. "And Warrick… If Sara…"

"Don't," Greg interrupted. "Please, just don't… _say_ it."

Brass nodded respectfully, but continued. "You know it will be hard to be sympathetic to your plight, too. By your own admission, you were aiming the gun at a CSI, and though it wasn't meant for Sara you hit her anyway."

Slowly, Warrick nodded. "I know," he whispered.

Brass's phone began to ring and he looked at it before holding up his hand to the assembled. "I'm sorry," he said to them, "but I have to take this." He turned away from them and put a hand on the door frame. "Brass."

They couldn't see his face, but a fleeting premonition of despair told Catherine everything that Brass was hearing. He didn't speak for a long time and after a while he nodded.

"OK. Thank you, I know you did the best you could." He hung up and turned to look at the rest of them. Millions of emotions were scrawled across his face in invisible ink that no one could read. Mostly, it just came off cold and impassive, but he was radiating so much more than that. When he spoke, his voice shook only slightly with the news he had to deliver. "That was Desert Palms. Lindsey died on her way to the hospital."

If Catherine had been standing, she might have fallen to the floor. As it was, she simply sat there, staring at Brass, hearing his words, but not sure exactly how she should react. A tidal wave of everything a mother could ever feel for a lost child drowned her in ice and darkness. She choked for air, her throat constricting to stop the tide filling her lungs. Her thoughts were a flood of fears and folly and they poured out of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and mingling with the blood and sweat that had already gathered in pools on her skin.

She couldn't swim and she couldn't breathe and for a moment she considered letting the water fill her lungs and sinking to the bottom like a lead weight. But she didn't do it and she didn't know why. She was completely unaware of everything outside of that moment. Even Sara was far from her mind. All she could remember was Lindsey's bright eyes, her sweet smile, and her bloodstained chest as she took in her last breaths. She was only vaguely aware of hands on either side of her, grabbing her arms tenderly and bringing her to her feet as someone pulled them behind her back and she felt cold metal link them together.

So they wanted to bind her before they made her walk the plank. But they didn't know she was already drowning.

Someone was hugging her. She knew it was Grissom by the way his beard scratched against her neck. He whispered something in her ear but she didn't hear it. Brass's words echoed in her mind, and after that there was nothing else.

The soft brush of someone else brought a tingling sensation to her arm and she looked to her side to see Warrick standing next to her, his eyes on the floor as they bound him in chains. At least they would walk the plank together.

Forgetting her hands were bound, Catherine pushed herself against him and her tears fell onto his shoulder. He must have broken away from the binds as his arms enveloped her and he held her to his chest, kissing the top of her head tenderly as she wept openly, barely aware of herself. Thoughts of Lindsey consumed her, but his thoughts of her consumed all of that. She could stay in his sweet embrace forever, surrendering the world to die with him.

That is, had she been allowed.

They still had to walk the plank together. Someone gently pulled her away from him and his arms were taken behind his back again. It was over. They were both bound.

* * *

"What's going on? Nick, I'm scared." 

He squeezed her hand tight in his, trying not to cry for her sake. "You'll be OK," he whispered to her as the ambulance moved on. "They'll take good care of you, you'll see."

"I can't breathe…" The words came out in a sob. "It hurts too much."

"Don't speak," Nick hushed her. "You don't have to speak, just keep fighting, alright darling?"

Sara grit her teeth and nodded.

"Shit…" muttered a paramedic as they checked her vitals.

"No, man," Nick said. "No man, you can't say that, not now."

The paramedic ignored him and looked at Sara's stomach. "No… the bullet hit her stomach, the acids—"

"Fix it!" Nick snapped.

"We're _trying_," the paramedic snapped back. "Just hold on."

But Nick knew, as did the paramedic, that a punctured stomach was a fatal wound. He turned back to his friend and squeezed her hand tight.

"OK, darling," he said with a forced smile. "You just got to keep fighting for me, can you do that?"

But looking in her eyes, he could tell that Sara knew it too. She slowly shook her head as the tears thinned the blood on her face. "Nick… I can't…"

He stroked her hair tenderly and slowly shook his head. "It's not your time to die, Sara. It wasn't my time then, and it's not yours now."

If Sara could have laughed at that moment, she might have. "I don't think we get to decide when it's our time."

"I told you not to talk," Nick said. "So hush, would you?"

"Nick…" Sara said, breathless. "You have to tell Greg…"

"You can tell him yourself when you're better," Nick said.

"Shut up," Sara snapped. "You know that won't…" but she grimaced in pain before she finished her sentence. "I need to tell him… Please."

Nick swallowed his fear and nodded, a tear escaping his eye. "Alright," he whispered. "OK, what do you want me to tell him?"

"Tell him that… I really _am_ sorry. For… everything."

"Aw, darling," Nick said with a laugh. "You know you have nothing to apologize for."

"Seven years…" Sara whispered. "And I have the worst timing ever. So tell him… tell him sorry I was so late. Sorry I waited so long… to tell him I loved him."

"Sara…" Nick whispered. "I don't think he'll blame you for that."

"I love you too, Nick…" Sara gasped. "And everyone… You're all… you're all my fa…" Her breaths became short and shallow as her eyes rolled up into her head.

"She's convulsing!" the paramedic cried to his colleague.

"Family…" Nick finished for her as he wiped his face with his sleeve. Sara's grip loosened against his and the paramedics went to work on her.

She was flatlining in the ambulance just as they pulled up to the hospital and the doors flew open.

"No!" the paramedic shouted at the doctors at the door. "We can't move her yet, she's not stable." He looked at Nick. "Please get out of the ambulance, sir."

Slowly, Nick stood and nodded, his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach as he staggered out the door, watching Sara as the paramedic charged the defibrillators. He stumbled into a doctor, who pushed him aside and jumped into the ambulance and put a hand on the paramedic's arm. "Bullet wound to the stomach," he said. "There's nothing we can do now."

Slowly, the paramedic stared at Sara, defibrillators poised as he nodded. He slowly put them down and looked at his watch. "Time of death, 5:42PM."

Nick couldn't fight the tears any longer as he pulled out his phone and turned away from the horrifying scene displayed in front of his eyes. He couldn't even control them as it began to ring, though he tried harder than anything. He knew they'd be able to tell what happened before he even spoke.

"Grissom."

"It's about Sara…" Nick couldn't continue as his sobbing took over and said volumes more than words ever could.

Grissom hesitated on the other end, but Nick knew he was still there by the way he was breathing. "OK…" he whispered. "Thanks, Nick."


	9. All In The Family

**_Author's Note:_** This WAS one really long chapter. I split it last minute. The last chapter will be up tomorrow. Read, review, and I'll try and return the favor. :o)

* * *

Grissom hung up the phone and stared at the wall for a long time. His phone rang again, startling him out of his stupor and he answered it without seeing who was calling. His voice was as solid as stone. "Grissom." 

"Grissom, it's me."

_Oh no…_ Grissom thought, remembering the party at Sara's. "Sofia…"

"Yeah, listen, you got an ETA for me because this thing is winding down, people are tired and going home, and I don't want to be left cleaning up after everyone all by myself, you catch my drift?"

"Sofia…" It occurred to Grissom that in all the chaos, no one had thought to call the party and tell them what had happened. They were all friends of Sara's after all, or at least all friends of Greg's. They'd need to know. "Sofia…"

"Why do you keep saying my name like that? Is something wrong?"

Grissom bit his lip so hard he drew blood. "Sofia, Sara was shot. She… she passed away a few minutes ago."

Silence met his ears for a few seconds before Sofia responded. "I… Oh my… Wow…"

"My thoughts exactly."

"Who… I mean, how…"

"Well…" Grissom looked around at the people running about the lab, business as usual, the swing shift moving along like ants. "Warrick… hit her… on accident. Catherine was… Catherine stabbed her daughter, Lindsey and she died on her way to the hospital."

"Grissom, you're not making any sense. Was Warrick aiming at a crook? Sara got caught in the line of fire?"

Grissom's brow furrowed, trying to figure out how best to explain it for her. "Sort of. Sara _was_ shot in the line of fire, only the crook was… Catherine… because she stabbed… Lindsey…" Even as he said the words, they tasted bitter and alien on his tongue. They didn't belong together like that. Sara, shot, crook, Catherine, stab, Lindsey… No… that just didn't work together. It didn't fit together at all. It was like swallowing a gallon of bile. All Grissom wanted to do was throw it up again, take it back, and maybe he would stop feeling so nauseous.

"Where are you?" Sofia asked.

"At the lab," Grissom answered.

"I'm coming in."

"The party?"

"Forget the party," Sofia replied. "I'm kicking everyone out right now. I'll lock up for Sara, she can… I mean, oh God, she's dead…" She was quiet a minute. "Wow, I can't… I just can't hold onto this, you know?"

"I know," Grissom answered honestly. "Do what you can."

"I will. See you soon."

"Bye." Grissom hung up the phone and walked into a nearby empty conference room, burying his face in his hands as he cried. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but just sit at that table and cry. He stayed there for twenty minutes before he was confident enough to face his colleagues and deliver the news. After making sure his eyes were dry, he rose to his feet and left the room.

The first person that needed telling was the last one he wanted to face. Striding painfully over to Ecklie's office, Grissom grimaced, trying not to think of all the ways Ecklie could make this about the lab. He knocked on the door but it fell open with his knock and he saw Ecklie sitting at his desk just staring at the computer screen blindly. He wasn't typing or scurrying about doing some menial paperwork. He was just staring.

"Conrad?"

"Hm?" Ecklie looked up at him as if just noticing his entrance. He spoke in a soft voice. "Gil. What brings you here?"

"You know that Sara Sidle was shot today," Grissom said slowly.

"Of course I know that," Ecklie snapped, sounding more like his familiar self. Oddly enough this encouraged Grissom more than his quiet tones had. Smiling in spite of the news he had to deliver, Grissom sighed.

"Nick called from the hospital," Grissom said, his voice betraying none of the emotions that raged inside him. "She passed away about half an hour ago."

Ecklie let out a low whistle as he nodded slowly. "Right," he said. "The staff should be alerted."

"Of course," Grissom agreed.

"I expect, as her supervisor, you're the best qualified to break that news to them," Ecklie added. He sounded like he was giving Grissom just another everyday command. He acted completely unaffected by the unfortunate news. But his voice was soft and low again. Not at all like his usual high-strung self.

"Of course," Grissom repeated. He lingered in the office as Ecklie stared back at the computer screen, seemingly in deep thought. He seemed to realize Grissom was still there and he turned to him and barked at him again.

"Well? What are you waiting for? It's not going to announce itself, you know, and they have a right to know." Nodding, Grissom turned his back on Ecklie and left. "Grissom…" He stopped and waited. "Close the door, would you?" Grissom obliged. He heard the door click shut and then leaned against it, waiting to hear some sound from Ecklie inside, but he didn't know what to expect. All that met his ears was silence.

Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the front desk where he asked the secretary to page everyone.

Within minutes, they were all assembled, and Grissom realized how small his team was with so many losses. Nick was still at the hospital, Warrick and Catherine were in holding cells, and Sara was…

The assembled, as it turned out however, didn't just include his team, but others as well, from various labs and the swing shift too. Everyone wanted to know the news. Greg and Brass were there of course, each looking nervous in his own right, but so was Wendy, who looked equally anxious, and Archie was there too. He wondered what the two of them were doing working now, but attributed it to the idea that they were pulling doubles. To his great surprise, David Hodges was there, too, his face probably the most inscrutable out of all of them. There were a few faces from the swing shift that he almost recognized from working with them when their shifts overlapped. Everyone wanted to know the fate of the wounded CSI.

Grissom swallowed hard before he spoke. "Nick called about a half hour ago," he said. "I'm sorry, I needed to… I just couldn't get to you sooner. But Sara Sidle passed away just as she got to the hospital."

There were gasps and mutters of disappointment, but none were as loud as the look on Greg's face. He didn't say or do anything, but he turned on his heal and walked quickly down the hall. Each face was different, each dealing with the news in their own personal way. Grissom thought he saw an unshed tear glisten in Wendy's eye as she bit her quivering lip and nodded at him before turning on her heal herself and making her way down the hall. Brass approached Grissom and asked if he was OK, to which Grissom responded that he was, before Brass too left the scene.

As they each left one by, soon the only one left was Hodges, who stared pensively at a point on the wall somewhere beyond Grissom's shoulder. Grissom wasn't sure what to say, but mercifully Hodges saved him the effort as his gaze shifted from the wall to Grissom's eyes.

"Sometimes," Hodges said, sounding philosophical, "your job just really sucks, doesn't it?"

Grissom was mildly surprised by his words, and in any other situation might even have been amused, but he was more amazed at the truth in them than anything else. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes, it really does."

Satisfied, Hodges nodded, though he was still frowning as he analyzed a speck of dirt on the floor by Grissom's foot. "Yeah, well, I have some evidence swing shift needs processed, so if you need me, remember that I'm busy and bother someone else. See you later." And with that, he spun around and walked off down the hall as if nothing had ever happened.

Grissom sighed as he watched Hodges' retreating back. He tried to muster up the courage to go and tell Warrick and Catherine what had happened, but found that he had drained himself of any mettle he had left just by keeping a stony face in front of Greg and the others.

Greg… He would be devastated… Grissom didn't want to think about how Greg felt right then. He only hoped he wasn't doing anything stupid.

* * *

Nick returned to the lab, preferring to be with his friends, his family, rather than going home where he would be alone. He sighed as he opened up his locker and hung up his jacket. His shift would start soon anyway, he might as well get a head start. 

He heard cursing and the sound of crashing metal, followed by more cursing. Frowning, he looked around the lockers and saw Greg leaning against them, his head on his arms, one of them bleeding. He looked over at Nick and smiled morosely.

"How was she?" Greg asked, shaking out his bloody hand. Nick concluded from the dent in the locker and the bloody hand that Greg had gotten in a fight with the locker and the locker had won.

Nick stared at the floor before looking in Greg's eyes. "She was scared," he said honestly. "She talked about you."

Greg nodded slowly, not tearing his eyes away from Nick's for a moment. "It should have been me in that ambulance with her. Not you."

Nick couldn't hold the eye contact any longer or he would burst into tears. "You're right," he replied. "But I took good care of her, Greg. I promise you that."

"I believe you," Greg told him. He sighed as he sat down on the bench, raking his hands through his hair. "And I'm sorry. For saying that you shouldn't have been there."

Nick took a seat next to him and put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man, don't worry. You're hurting. And I agreed with you."

Greg looked up at him, all the laughter gone from his eyes. _My God_, Nick thought. _He's as dead as Sara is._

"I'm glad it was you," Greg said. "With her, I mean. I'm glad it was you."

"She loved you, Greg," Nick said. "Said so herself. She wanted me to…" He laughed at the memory as he shook his head. "She wanted me to apologize for her. Like she had anything to be sorry about. But she said… She said she was sorry she never had the chance to tell you. Sorry that she'd waited so long to say it."

Greg let out a long low sigh. "She was incredible. Wasn't she?" He looked up at Nick for encouragement.

Nick laughed and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "She really was."

Greg tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. You know just _hours_ ago we were in here, fighting about something so… so _stupid_. And it's her birthday, Nick. Her goddamn _birthday_. And all I wanted to do was throw her a party, and then she... I just…" He pursed his lips as his eyes watered, his voice trembling as he continued to speak. "I know we just hooked up today, but in my own quiet way I've been falling in love with her for the past _seven years_. She was everything in me. And now that she's gone, I don't know who I am anymore. I've become this angry and bitter person and I… I don't like him, Nick."

The hand on Greg's shoulder slid across his neck until his arm was on both shoulders. "It's grief, bro. You'll be OK. We all will, eventually."

"Really?" Greg said, the laughter in his tone sounding depressingly hopeless. "Because I feel like I'll never be OK again." Greg stood up, pulling away from Nick's touch, much preferring his own as he rubbed his arms. In the dim light of the locker room, his lonely silhouette against the row of lockers, Greg looked incredibly small. He was gaunt and pale, his hair a messy mop on top of his head and for a moment Nick thought he was talking to a ghost.

Nick was stoic. He had to be, for Greg. "You know I'm here for you, Greg," he said. "I'm always here for you."

"I know." Greg's voice sounded little and far away as he stared at the floor.

Nick got to his feet and pulled Greg into a comforting hug, patting his back. Slowly, Greg let his crossed arms fall down to his sides as he began to cry, eventually hugging Nick back, his hands in fists. A tear or two escaped Nick's eyes as he held his friend for a long time.

"It's OK, Greg," he kept saying. "We're a family."

* * *

The problem with murder, Warrick had learned, is that it always ruined everything for everyone involved. Warrick had watched both crooks and victims walk in and out of the doors of the lab. Families could be destroyed with one bullet. He just never thought it would be this family. His bullet. 

Somehow, from the moment he saw Sara bleeding in Catherine's arms, he knew she was going to die. And sitting alone in his holding cell with no one coming to visit him, his worst fears were confirmed. If Sara was going to make it, someone would have come to talk to him by now, maybe even almost have forgiven him partially. Of course, he would never be truly forgiven. He couldn't even forgive himself, and he knew better than anyone that it wasn't his fault.

He couldn't help but feel like he should have done something, _anything_, to keep from pulling that trigger. One shot had killed them all.

He sighed as he buried his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as he wondered what he was going to do. He couldn't cry, he couldn't think, he was just existing. How could this have all happened? He had been there, he had _seen_ it, but it still didn't make any sense to him.

Hands trembling, Warrick silently prayed that they would give him the death penalty.

Hell, in their shoes, he would have.

* * *

Catherine sat alone in her cell, completely catatonic. She stared blankly at the bars, unseeing. To all who passed or tried to speak to her, she was dead. To her, nothing existed outside of her prison cell. Nothing at all. Because if nothing else existed then there was nothing to lose. Somehow, through the fog of nothingness in her mind, she knew that Sara was dead too. She didn't need anyone to tell her. She knew it just like she knew Lindsey was dead before Brass even said anything. 

"Why do you weep, friend?"

She sat next to her on the bench, staring at Catherine as Catherine stared off into space.

"I'm not," Catherine replied, though she wasn't so sure if she had spoken the words aloud or in her mind. Speaking was a foreign task, and thinking wasn't much easier. "I'm not weeping."

"You weep internally," said the woman. "You bleed in your soul. You are wounded. You are broken."

Catherine smiled bitterly, her blue eyes still a cloudy gray like a dead woman's. "Well, you're right about that."

The woman put her hand on Catherine's, which rested on Catherine's knee. "There is no stronger tie then the ones that bind family together. Mother to daughter. Sister to sister. We have to stick together, us broken women."

Catherine nodded, her eyes still hanging her hopes on some invisible star. "Sara's dead, isn't she?"

The woman sighed. "Aye."

Catherine turned to face the woman. She was dressed in black, and no older than sixteen, old before her time yet still too young to know. Catherine still felt confident in calling her a woman. Her red hair was tucked under a black funeral hat that looked like it was fashioned in the 1800s. "Why are you still here, Annabelle?"

The woman smiled a youthful grin. "Because you are," she replied. "I wanted to tell you my story."

"You've told your story," Catherine muttered bitterly, looking away from her again. "And it killed two people that I cared for. That I loved."

"You were family," Annabelle said. "That is why you were chosen."

"You chose us," Catherine said monotonously.

"Yes," Annabelle replied. "We did. Because we related to you. And because you were there when we left the others. You know, when we came here from Ireland, we dreamed of starting all over again in the great American West. Lizzy-Beth and I were little girls when our family came over. We grew up together. Eventually, we both met Daniel and he and Lizbeth got engaged. But all he ever wanted was me. When I became pregnant, I tried to hide it, but Lizbeth knew. Deep inside her, she knew it was his child. She called me a whore. The whole town did. So I planned on killing the thing growing inside of me. I would tell them I miscarried, that it was God's punishment for my adultery, and maybe then they would have pity on me. Only it was so difficult… I loved my child. But I killed it anyway. Because I was selfish. And in his rage, Daniel killed me. In anguish, both he and my sister killed themselves. And we have been paying for our sins ever since. Until we met you."

Catherine closed her eyes. "I'm glad that you have found peace at my expense," she said sardonically.

"I'm not," Annabelle said, making Catherine face her. "Which is why I'm still here."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked.

"I have come to repay the favor you gave me and my kin," Annabelle replied. "The clock will turn back fifteen hours. No one will remember this day. Naught but you and the dead."

Catherine frowned at her, confused. "I don't understand."

"Then I will show you," Annabelle replied. "And you will wake as if from some horrid nightmare, in your own head and your own mind. You will not be thought of as mad, or ill, or a whore. You will be Catherine Willows again. And you will laugh again."

"My daughter is dead," Catherine said, her voice heavy. "I will never laugh again."

Annabelle grinned and giggled, looking like the young girl she really was. "If I had twice your wisdom when I was this age in life, I would have squawked like a goose and thought it brought rain. You are not understanding me. This day _never happened_."

"That's impossible," Catherine said. "I lived it, it happened."

Annabelle sighed, still smiling. "Alright, then I have nothing left to do but show you what I mean."

Catherine closed her eyes, ready to tell the woman to go away and let her grieve in peace. But when she opened them again, Annabelle was gone. _She probably slipped down the drain along with my mind_, Catherine thought to herself as she breathlessly took in her new, yet somehow all too familiar surroundings.

An eerily haunting voice called out to her, sounding far too real, and too longed-for to be true. "Well? Are you going to help me with this or just stare at me all night?"


	10. Deja Vu

_**Author's Note:**_ No update yesterday due to FFN being bitchy. Read and Review as always, I'll try and return the favor. The first chapter of _Collateral Damage_, sequel to the kidnapping story _Slither_ (starring Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders, with supporting roles to Nick Stokes and the rest of the crime lab) will be posted Monday/Tuesday. _Collateral Damage_ started as an angsty romance fic and quickly spiralled into a little action adventure when I got a little caught up in a case I had previously introduced for one plot device and ended up making it a central "secondary" plot line to the romance. Needless to say if you like to read about lots of angsty Sara stuff and poor Greg getting the worst of pretty much everything, it ought to be pretty enjoyable. GSR and Sandles alike can fight for the outcome of the story, as it's also a love-triangle thing. I love shameless plugs.

* * *

"What?" Catherine whispered.

Sara was leaning over a crib with a camera poised. She was looking over her shoulder and grinning wildly, as though she had just learned the secret to life and was going to tell no one. "Hello, Catherine."

"What time is it?" Catherine asked desperately. "How did we get here?"

Sara turned back to the crib and took another photograph. "I drove us," she replied. "It's 3:45."

"And you're alive…" Catherine breathed.

"You expected maybe a mummy?" Sara inquired with a raise of her eyebrows.

"A ghost, actually," Catherine replied, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Alright… So you're alive."

Sara giggled in a way that reminded Catherine of the red-headed Annabelle. "I don't know what you did, Catherine, or what she said to you, but you did it."

Sara's words made Catherine's frown deepen. "What are you talking about?"

Sara abandoned the camera and walked over to Catherine, pulling up her shirt to reveal a small bruise on her belly. "A reminder," she said, "to tell us that it wasn't all a dream. I remember as vividly as you do."

Catherine was stunned. "I thought… she said you wouldn't remember."

"'Naught but you and the dead,'" Sara quoted. "And you forget the state I was in at the time."

"That means Lindsey…" Catherine felt very cold. Sara put a hand on her arm to comfort her.

"Lindsey is sleeping now," Sara reminded her. "She will awake in the morning thinking it was all a terrible nightmare."

"And what about the rest of the day?" Catherine asked. "Greg's party, Warrick, the bones… Oh God, Sara, the bones…" Sara nodded as a scream came from downstairs. Catherine's eyes widened. "We have to save her—"

Sara caught Catherine's arm to stop her. "We can't stop what's already happened."

"He's going to kill himself…" Catherine muttered.

"We weren't brought back to interfere with that," Sara replied. "You understand that this shouldn't have happened. They broke the rules for us because what happened destroyed everything and it was their fault. It's a clean slate for _us_. But not for them. Their fate is already sealed. If we interfere now, they'll only die some other way later."

Catherine was confused. "So we can't do anything?"

"We can recover the bodies of the McCormicks," Sara replied. "And Daniel Weaver. There's a family plot that they wanted to be buried in, but never were."

Catherine smiled and nodded. "Right," she said. "They would have wanted that."

Sara moved to the door when Catherine caught her arm. "Wait," she said. Sara looked at her curiously and Catherine smiled at her. "I'm really glad you're back, you know?"

Sara returned the smile and put her hand over the one Catherine had resting on her arm. "Me too."

The two women embraced and Catherine had never felt so grateful for anything in her life. She felt a tear fall onto her shoulder and she broke the hug, looking at Sara curiously, who was wiping her eyes and looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, blushing. "I just… I thought it was all over, and there were so many things I hadn't done, things I hadn't said. You don't get second chances ever. It just feels so good, to be able to hug you like that again. I… I don't remember anything really, least of all how long I was gone, but I do remember that I missed you Catherine. All of you."

Catherine sighed and pulled her friend into another hug. "Me too, Sara," she whispered. "Me too."

* * *

After finishing at the scene, they returned to the lab and brewed some coffee. All smiles, Greg Sanders strolled into the break room and handed them each an invitation. 

"Let me guess," Sara said, eyebrows raised suggestively. "A devious scheme to get us leied?"

Greg chuckled. "Cute," he said. "You guys coming?"

Sara grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Greg nodded excitedly. "Fantastic!" He turned to leave, but Sara caught his arm and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

"Wow," Catherine said. "You two want the room to yourself? Because remember, there are still windows."

Breaking away from the kiss, Sara smirked at Catherine, still holding Greg's arm. Greg seemed to be in some sort of blissful daze. "Like you cared about windows earlier."

"We will never speak of that incident again," Catherine said sternly. "But this I will laugh about forever."

"Oh believe me," Sara said, wrapping her arms around Greg. "It _will_ be spoken of again, if only amongst us. I will hold it against you for ever and ever."

"But this actually _happened_," Catherine pointed out.

Sara smirked at her. "But yours was so much worse."

"What are we talking about?" Greg asked, shaking the daze from his eyes.

Sara laughed and kissed him again. "Yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?"

"I decided to tell you that I love you," Sara replied.

Greg shrugged. "I guess I can roll with that." He kissed her again, then pulled away, looking confused. "This isn't some sort of prank, is it? Nick isn't hiding somewhere with a camera to see how far I'll go with this, is he?"

Catherine tried to hold it back, but she couldn't help but laugh. "I'm impressed," she said to Sara. "He resisted me _much_ more."

"Yeah, well you were possessed," Sara replied, passing it off as though it was nothing. She looked at Greg, who was frowning at the two of them. "Relax, hon, girl talk."

But Greg held up a finger and pointed at Catherine, then Sara, one eye half-closed. "This is a scheme. You're scheming and it's going to be mean and cruel to me, isn't it?"

Sara cradled Greg's face in her hands. "Honey. I love you. I want to say that now, in case…" she glanced at Catherine, then rolled her eyes. "I just want to say that now, alright? And Catherine and I… We bonded. A lot. So just deal with the code talk, would you?"

"That must have been some case in Henderson," Greg said. "Because it sure did a number on you. You weren't like this before you left."

Sara kissed him again. "Greg, I'm telling you I love you. Can't you just accept that?"

A slow grin spread across Greg's face as he nodded. "Sure can," he replied. "I've loved you for like, oh, I don't know, seven years?"

"That's what I wanted to hear," Sara said. "Good boy."

"What am I, a dog?" Greg cocked an eyebrow.

Sara smirked at him. "Do you _really_ want me to answer that?"

Greg rolled his eyes and fell into a nearby chair. "I guess not," he replied, sounding dismal as he sorted through his invitations. Sara looked about to reassure him when Hodges entered.

"Catherine?" Hodges waved a manila envelope at her. "Results back on your soil sample—"

"Let me guess," Catherine interrupted. "High traces of pollen."

Hodges blinked. "Uh… yeah… Also, great fertilizer… I guess that doesn't matter… Decomp does that." He looked like she'd just stolen his thunder. Catherine felt sorry for him.

"Great job, Hodges," she said, "but those bodies are way too old for us to do anything about them."

"I already called the anthropological society," Sara said. "They're going to give the bones a proper burial in a family plot. Turns out they belonged to the McCormick family who used to live on the land that house was on." She glanced at Catherine. "Who'd have guessed?"

Hodges didn't know what to say. "Well if you knew all this, why did you make me analyze the soil?"

Catherine shrugged. "We had to go through the motions," she replied.

Hodges rolled his eyes. "You know, I have more important things to do then mess around with pointless goose chases."

"We know you do, Hodges," Catherine said in a very understanding way. "Now go do them."

He nodded at her, then turned to Greg. "Don't think that I don't know that you're having a party today. Or that I'm not invited."

Greg looked at the invitations in his hands and shoved them behind his back. "It's in the mail, bro!" he called after Hodges as he left in a huff.

Sara entwined her hand with Greg's and grinned down at him. He looked up at her with a furrowed brow. "What are you grinning at?"

"Oh, just… I know something you don't know," she replied.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" Greg asked.

Sara looked over at Catherine knowingly as she kneeled down next to Greg in his chair. "Just that this day is going to end far better than it did yesterday."

"Yesterday I ended my day with pizza and a Jackie Chan flick," Greg told her. "All in all, I'd say it was a good day."

"Maybe so," Sara acknowledged. "But you didn't end your day with _me_."

Greg leaned his forehead against Sara's. "Now _that _is true. I don't know what's come over you Sara, but I gotta admit, I like it. And you'll really be impressed by the party. I think you'll like it. You, uh, don't _have_ to dress for it or anything, but—"

"Of course I'll dress the part," she said. She kissed him on the forehead and looked him directly in the eye, dead serious all of a sudden. "Never change, Greg."

"I don't plan to," Greg replied.

"I'm going to go find Warrick," Catherine said. "There are a few amends that I need to make too."

She didn't need to search long. Warrick was walking down the hall, looking for her. "Catherine!" he said. "Good, I've been meaning to talk to you—"

"I'll save you the trouble," Catherine said holding up her hand. "Yes, your wife is a lesbian, no it's nothing against you as a person or a lover, yes you should go talk to her _before_ attending Greg's party, and I have been insanely in love with you for, oh I don't know, _ever_, so why don't we skip the dance and the charade and just sleep together to get this sexual tension out of the air, because I have _got_ to tell you, Warrick, I am not as patient as I used to be, I can't just wait around for things to just fall into my lap, I have to fight for them, you know, are you getting all this or am I talking too fast?"

Warrick blinked at her and opened his mouth, hesitating a moment. "Uh… no, I think I got all that."

"Whew," Catherine said, sounding like she just ran a mile. "I'm glad, because that was hard to say with one breath."

Warrick was confused. "How did you know about—"

"Tina?" Catherine asked. "Call it women's intuition. A lot of it."

"And you want to—"

"Have sex?" Catherine interrupted. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Why are you telling me all this?" Warrick asked. "And… now?"

Catherine took his hands in hers and looked at them, her thumb running over his knuckles as she smiled. She looked up into Warrick's deep blue eyes and smiled. "Because Sara's right. You never know when you'll run out of time. And you don't always get a second chance."

Warrick's hands closed around hers. "Catherine, I… I'm married, I can't…"

"I'll wait," Catherine answered, kissing his fingers. "So long as it's not forever. And so long as you know. I can wait as long as you need."

The lights went out. A slew of obscenities could be heard coming from Grissom's office. Somewhere further down the hall, Nick tripped. There was a gunshot from the interrogation room. But when the lights finally came on again, Warrick and Catherine were caught in the thralls of a deep and passionate kiss, completely unaware of a world outside each other. She was dead to everything but his embrace.

The only difference was that this time, Catherine wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

Catherine left work early in order to get in a few hours sleep before Greg's party and potentially see Lindsey when she got home. At around two o'clock, she got a call from Greg making sure she was still coming to Sara's "surprise" party, and she reassured him she'd be there, even if she would be a little late. At three o'clock, she saw the school bus drive up and Lindsey hop off of it, her bag slung over one shoulder. She hesitated on the sidewalk, staring at the door pensively. Catherine figured she was probably having a terrible sense of déjà vu. 

In order to dispel this fear, Catherine went to the door and opened it, smiling at her daughter who was surprised to see her.

"Mom?" Lindsey called at the end of the driveway. She took a step back. "What are you doing here?"

Catherine held her hands out so Lindsey could see there was nothing threatening in them at all. "I just wanted to say hello before I jet off to a party, honey," she replied. "Would you give your mother a hug?"

"Everything today was so weird…" Lindsey said, cautiously. "At school, we had a test in math and I… I knew all the questions already."

"I know, baby," Catherine said. "But don't worry about it. Everything's OK now. Everything is how it should be."

Lindsey smiled and ran to her mother, throwing her arms around her neck. Catherine breathed in her daughter's scent, mingled with the aroma of her mango shampoo that Lindsey always insisted on buying. Lindsey had never seemed so beautiful to Catherine as she did in that moment.

"Oh sweetheart," she whispered, tears escaping her eyes and falling into her daughter's hair. "I love you _so_ much."

"I love you, too, Mom," Lindsey replied, her own eyes shut tight. "I had the worst nightmare—"

"Sh," Catherine hushed her. "We don't need to talk about that now." She pulled away from Lindsey and took her by the shoulders, looking her up and down. "You are so beautiful," she said. "You're going to do so much with your life."

Lindsey grinned. "Thanks, Mom."

An understanding seemed to pass between the two of them as an overwhelming sense of warmth rushed through them. And with one last hug, Catherine and her daughter went inside to prepare for the rest of what would prove to be a very, _very_ good day indeed.

**THE END**


End file.
